


And You'll Never Walk Alone

by EllisyaSyron



Series: And You'll Never Walk Alone [3]
Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, domestic snowbaz, eighth year, i am not liable if you die from fluff, will add more tags and characters as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-16 20:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 30,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11259975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllisyaSyron/pseuds/EllisyaSyron
Summary: a summary without spoilers is impossible right now so here is an excerpt instead:He kisses me above my left eye, and then on my right cheek. Then, he presses his lips firmly against my neck. When he kisses me just above my collar bone, where my shirt gaps, I realize he's kissing each one of my moles. This could take all night, I think. And I hope it does.Hello!! Still writing!! I'm sorry it's taking so long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back friends! ❤️  
> ❤️if you're just joining in, you can start the story [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10510371/chapters/23194281) if you want to see the first date/kiss  
> ❤️read part two [ here ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10892253/chapters/24209358) for the beginning of the relationship  
> ❤️or dive right in. the world is your lobster!  
> There's two songs for this chapter, the second in response to the first.  
> ❤️[ Cezinando - Håper du har plass (Hope you have space)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6JGyMza4xU)  
> (Simon's POVs)  
> ❤️[ The Killers - Deadlines And Commitments](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFoo3NGy0Dg)  
> (Baz's POVs)  
> ❤️Oh, and Happy Birthday, Simon Snow!  
> 

SIMON

            I don't know if today is really my birthday, or if the state people just guessed. It's never really meant anything to me. It's not special. It might have been, if I could have celebrated it at Watford with everyone, but I’m always in care in the summers.

            It's June 21st. I'm 18. And I'm giving myself my first real birthday present. 

            I sign myself out of care. I have no idea what I think I’m going to do when I get there, but at least I know where I’m going.

            I take a bus, then a train, then a cab, then I finally walk the last few miles from the road to the front door. It's a nice day for it, or would be, if my magic wasn’t boiling under my skin.

            When I knock on the front door of Pitch Manor, I think I’m going to blow it down like a fairytale wolf. I’m so nervous, I can feel a bubbling at the back of my throat that’s probably magic. Or maybe just vomit.

 _Anyone but his dad, anyone but his dad,_ I pray to no one in particular.

            When Vera finally answers, I’m so overcome with relief I blurt out, “Oh, thank magic,” before I remember that Vera is a Normal.

            She’s looking up at me with concern, and doesn’t invite me in. Instead, she comes out onto the porch and shuts the heavy door quickly behind her.

            “Master Snow, Basilton isn't here.”

            My heart plummets down through the wood slats under my feet. “Where is he?”

            “Please, wait here," she says. "I'll drive you back to the station. Give me just a moment.”

            I don’t know what she’s going to do, ask for the afternoon off? I don’t want to get her into trouble. Why is she being so nice to me? (Did Baz tell her about me? About us?)

            Vera looks like a TV grandma: a soft, wrinkled face, greying auburn hair pulled back in a bun, and chubby arms for hugging. She's not wearing a uniform today like a TV maid, unlike when I saw her at Christmas. She drives me back to the train station and helps me buy the right ticket. She writes the instructions out for me in neat little handwriting on the back of an envelope, and repeats it to me at least three times. She makes me say it back to her.

            "Turn right past the stone bridge. I've got it. I promise."

            Her eyes are watery, but she’s smiling.

            “Why are you doing all this for me?” I ask.

            She tilts her chin into her neck. “I’m doing this for Basilton.”

            “Will you call ahead?” The idea makes my stomach start turning all over again.

            Vera tips her head conspiratorially. “I think he will like the surprise. Tell him to call home when you make it to the cabin. I want to know you made it safe.”

*** * ***

            This _isn't_ a cabin. It's bigger than some of the homes I've lived in. And not at all rustic. It's seems to be made of as much glass as wood. The late afternoon sun is pouring softly through the trees, and I can see a lake glistening in the distance. It's so quiet.

            I had the cabbie drop me down the road a bit to give me a few minutes alone to psych myself up for this. I’m now completely out of cash, so if this doesn't go well, I'll have nowhere else to go. I haven't seen another house for ages. I've never been anywhere like this. It feels... secluded, and wild. And safe.

            I knock on the front door, less nervous this time. No magic caught in my throat. When it finally opens, Baz is on the other side.

 _Baz_.

 

BAZ

 _Simon_.

            Just standing there, with a bag over his shoulder, like he’s here for a sleepover. _Or here to stay_. What the hell is he doing here at all? How did he find me? Why did he leave care? I don't know what to ask first.

            "You cut your hair," he says.

            I reach up with one hand and try to smooth it back. I can see Snow feels awkward; he's tugging at the strap of his bag nervously, twisting it. He doesn't know what to say either. I grab his hand and pull him inside. He drops his bag on the rug and I close the door. Without a word, I lead him up the stairs and into my room. The light is dimmer here, and somehow that makes it easier to look at him.

            I don't feel so much like I'm staring down the sun.

            I'm facing him, his fingers locked tight in mine. (I'm never letting him go again.) He's just looking at me, like he's a question and I'm the answer. His shirt is too baggy. I want to kiss where the collar pulls away from his neck. But I want to keep staring at him, too. I want to understand that he is real. But this doesn't feel real. Because it can't be. Because it's exactly what I want.

 I might've wished him here, but I don’t have that much power. But Simon does.

SIMON

            I missed him. I missed him so much it physically hurt. And now he's here and I don't know what to do. Do I tell him I've missed him? Or just kiss him? Do I tell him why I came? _Why did I come?_ What was I thinking?

            He puts his hand on my face and pulls me close, so our foreheads bump together. I touch his hand. _Yes._ I think. _Baz knows what to do. He always knows what to do._

            He kisses me above my left eye, and then on my right cheek. Then, he presses his lips firmly against my neck. When he kisses me just above my collar bone, where my shirt gaps, I realize he's kissing each one of my moles. _This could take all night,_ I think. And I hope it does.

 

BAZ

            "Please... please..." Simon keeps whispering it over and over. I don't know what he wants, so I just keep kissing him. "Please... _let me have this_."

            Then I realize he's not talking to me. He's asking the universe, or God, or whatever, not to take this away. I hold him tighter, his warm chest flush against mine.

            I can give him this. I can't give him everything, not everything he deserves. But I can give him this.

 

SIMON

            Baz is lazily tracing my ribs with his fingertips.

            “What are you doing?” I ask quietly. His arm is around me, and my mouth just next to his ear. _Super hearing_.

            He licks his lips and swallows before answering. “Thinking about how thin you’ve got.”

            “It’s alright.” I try to look unimpressed so he doesn’t worry. I’ve been through worse. “I’ll gain it all back.”

            “Like that’s healthy. Dropping and gaining ten kilos in a month.”

            I shrug and close my eyes. “It’s just my life.”

            “Not anymore.” And he says it like it’s a promise. He turns his head so his lips brush my forehead. Inhaling deeply, he asks, “Why did you come?”

 

BAZ

            “To be with you.” Snow makes it sound like it's obvious. My insides turn liquid. I try to kiss his forehead, but he tilts his head back at the same time and I knock my chin into his nose. He exhales an awkward laugh and kisses me on the mouth.

            When we break away he asks, “Why are _you_ here?”

            “I'm working.”

            “On what?”

            “For Ani. Closer to her and closer to London here. More comfortable than Fiona’s couch.”

            “You work for Ani? Doing what?” His incredulity is only a little insulting.

            “Whatever she needs. I’m the face of her business. I meet with investors.”

            “You have _investors_?”

            I toss my head. “Yes, Crowley. We’re really good at this. Is it that surprising?”

            I look back at his face and he looks… impressed. I feel my shoulders relax a little.

            “Does the business have a name?” he asks.

            “Lang-Pitch LLC.”

            “It’s got _your_ name in it?” Snow's eyebrows furrow.

            “It had to. They think I’m part owner. Who’s going to meet with a fifteen year old girl in a board room?”

            “But.. it’s hers. It should just be Lang. Or _maybe_ Lang-Bunce.”

            “Trust me, little Lang doesn't want any part of what I do.”

            “So you get paid?” he asks wonderingly.

            I answer him by pulling open the nightstand drawer and pulling out my billfold. There are six checks: thirty thousand pounds total. I hand them over. Snow’s face contorts with disbelief.

            “Are these real?”

            I start to answer and he slaps my face with the checks.

            “Don’t— faff about with the money.”

            He does it again. I take the checks from him and try to give him a withering look, but I can’t quite keep the smile off my face.

            “Sorry." He's grinning. Not sorry at all. "I just knew I'd never get the chance to do that again. How much of that is yours?”

            “I make about a pound an hour. Plus expenses,” I say matter-of-factly.

            “So little?”

            I put the checks away and breathe out a sigh. “Well, I obviously don't need it. And I've been working something like sixty-hour weeks trying to track down customers. And expenses, the petrol alone is ridiculous... So divided out between travel time and hunting and meeting with investors, it's not much. But most businesses don't make enough to survive their first year, so I’d rather the money go back into the business for the time being. Ani isn't paying herself at all.”

            Snow leans up on an elbow, fascinated for some reason. “How does it all work, then? Do people _buy_ the harnesses? And if they can't afford it? You just let them go on biting people?"

            I raise an eyebrow. “Is this why you're here? To discuss our business model?”

            “ _I told you._ I'm here to see you.” I wish he’d stop being so bloody sincere. It’s giving me palpitations.

            “Why? Why today?”

            The faintest hint of surprise flickers over his face before he answers. “It's my birthday.”

_Oh._

            “Happy birthday, Simon,” I offer in a low voice. His blue eyes go soft and his smile is so warm I feel my cheeks go hot. I tilt my head and run my hand over his shorn hair.

            "So... your family isn't here then?" he asks.

            "No. It's just us." I catch myself licking my lips unconsciously.

            "How long can I stay?" Snow's eyes fall to my mouth.

            "What do you mean? Forever.” I didn't mean to use that word. "I mean, as long as you like. What had you planned to do? Come see me and go right back into care?"

            "I hadn't thought that far ahead."

            I purse my lips and shake my head. Clearly Bunce does all the planning. "Snow—"

            "I guess I got as far as 'find Baz' and didn't really worry about the rest."

            I can’t be angry at him for that. He's close enough to rub his nose against mine. He does. "Is anyone going to be looking for you?"

            "No. I left legally. I don't think they'll mind much if I don't keep in touch." He's caressing his warm cheek against mine.

            I suck in a breath. "And the Mage?"

            Simon pulls back a little. Looks me in the eyes. His gaze is so intense, so intimate, he may as well have his tongue down my throat already. "No one's going to look for me here. Not in my enemy's house."

            This makes me smirk, and the smirk turns into a laugh, but he cuts it off with a kiss. And for a while my only thoughts are of his warm breath in my mouth.

            The sun is going down. "Are you hungry?"

            Snow's face lights up. " _Starving_."  
  
SIMON

            Baz wanted to take me somewhere nice for my birthday, but I told him no. (He doesn't know I only have two pairs of trackie bottoms and the rapidly-wearing-out jeans I currently have on.) It's getting late anyway. So he orders us in some pizzas instead.

            He pulls up Weekend on the largest flat screen I've ever seen. I asked him to. I wanted something good, but something we don't have to pay attention to. Because it's been over three weeks since I've seen him, heard his voice, anything, and I'm not done soaking him in yet.

            His hair is cut to just brush below his ears now. (I quite liked it long.) I suppose this is more the look of a proper professional, though. He likes mine short I think. He kept running his hands over the shaved softness of it. (I'm not complaining. I _like_ his hands on me, even when it's just his hand on my leg when he reaches over me for the remote.)

            Right now, his hand is over his mouth while he eats.

            "You don't have to do that, you know. I've seen your fangs. Loads."

            He doesn't move his hand. "When?"

            "Seriously? Just— all the time. Just eat like a normal person. It's not as noticeable as you think."

            Baz knits his eyebrows but lowers his hand.

            By the end of the movie, Baz is leaned back into the cushions and I've curled up on my side with my head in his lap. He's got one hand on my hip and the other absentmindedly stroking my hair again.

            The movie's gone quiet for the moment, so I ask, "Did you miss me then?"

            "No, Snow. I only looked for you over half the countryside," he answers sarcastically.

            I look up at him but his eyes are fixed on the screen. His skin glows blue in the little light there is."You did not."

            "I've been all over the country tracking down werewolves. I even went to Cardiff last Tuesday. Kept hoping I'd find you instead." He takes a deep breath and his legs shift slightly beneath me. "Every time I saw a bronze mess of curls my heart stopped. Should have known you'd buzzed it short, you git."

            He looks down at me now, and there's a smile playing at one corner of his mouth. I close my eyes (I'm so tired) and try to picture Baz looking for me in London, Blackpool, Gloucester...

            "Good thing _I_ found _you_ , then."

            "How did you?"

            "Vera. Oh, Merlin. You we're supposed to call her!" I yawn.

            "I'll call in the morning."

 

BAZ

            Snow falls asleep in my lap.

            I whisper, " _I love you,_ " and when he doesn't respond I know he's out cold.

            The movie is stuck on the menu screen, but I can't reach the remote to shut it off. Simon's so warm, I must fall asleep, too, because the next thing I know, there's sunlight creeping past the shades and keys jingling at the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading!!! I love all the comments and I'm happy to see so many new people find the fic! 
> 
>  
> 
> **if you are impatient to read more and haven't read parts[1](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10510371/chapters/23194281) & [2](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10892253/chapters/24209358) of this series, please do so! I promise there is fluff there too haha**  
>   
> 
> This chapter and the next one really tie in, so this bop goes for both of them:  
> [ I Want You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzA1KDxKXZw&index=6&list=PL0p4IXFGBheM8X0eJ46cAhnuvDmc1lyzA)

SIMON

            I wake instantly when Baz shoves me from his lap. He's standing up and clearing his throat, and that's when I finally blink open my eyes and peak over the back of the couch. There's a dark-haired woman half way in the front door with an uncertain look on her face. She's looking back and forth between Baz and me, and Baz is moving around the couch to usher her into the kitchen. I think she must be a Normal, and guess she must be another servant. _Does Baz really need a servant all to himself?_

            I'm still rubbing sleep from my eyes and dimly trying to figure out what that woman could be doing here when he shuffles her out the front door five minutes later.

            "Who was that?"

            "Housekeeper. Cook." Baz was all polite smiles with the woman, but flops on the couch looking overwhelmed and irritated. He rubs at his face with both hands.

            "Where's she going?" I ask, my stomach already grumbling.

            "I let her go."

            I sit up straight, leaning towards him. "You fired her? _Why?_ "

            "No, I just told her not to come back. I can't risk her telling my father you're here."

            "But she _needs_ this job, probably." How can he be so cold?

            " _I know._ That's why I didn't fire her. She'll still get paid, she just won't work here. That way my father can tell himself he's looking after me, she gets a pay check without doing any work, and I..." he leans forward and grabs my hands, "get to keep you here with me."

            I squint at him. "You thought that all out just since you woke up?"

            He blinks. "Yep."

            "You're either impossibly clever or... you're lying, and you knew I'd come here."

            Baz squints back at me and purses his lips to stymie a smile.

            "Either way..." I close the remaining space between us and kiss him.

            Baz grunts and pulls away. "You taste like old pizza. Do you have a toothbrush? Soap and things?"

            "Toothbrush, yes. Everything else, no."

            "Well then. Let's get you unpacked, then you can shower. You can borrow some of my stuff for now, then breakfast. Then the shops."

            I scrunch my face up in protest. "We can't just go back to sleep?"

            Baz rolls his head back. "Some of us have to work today."

            "I already don't like this side of you," I answer. Baz laughs and stands up. He grabs my bag and starts walking back up the stairs to his room. It's set off from the rest of the house a bit, to the left of the front door. I panic a little, thinking of him digging through my bag to put my things away, and rush after him.

            "I've got it." I pull the bag out of his grasp. He shows me some empty drawers, but I really only need one. I try to arrange my stuff so the drawer looks more full. Then I remember what Baz said about the shops.

            "Baz?" I call out. "I don't have any money."

            "I figured," he says back, and he's talking around a toothbrush. I hear him spit. "What are you dating me for if not my money?"

            I don't like that, using his money. Or his family's money, I guess. But I don't exactly have a choice. Care won't issue you a bursary unless you prove you're in school, and I couldn't exactly call up the Mage and tell him I was running away and needed proof of enrollment.

            I grab my own toothbrush and join Baz. This used to feel awkward, sharing a bathroom, but now it feels comforting. Like being back at Watford with him.

            "Done already? Did you use magic?" He eyes me suspiciously in the mirror. I shrug. He leaves and I can't follow him, I've already put toothpaste on my toothbrush. So I just send him telepathic messages _not to look at my stuff_.

            "Snow, what am I looking at?" he calls less than a minute later. I spit and whip out of the bathroom.

            "Don't—" Baz is holding up my duffel bag, looking inside. He must have gone to put it away and realized it wasn't empty. I rub the back of my head nervously. "Just... some stuff. Things people have given me."

            "What is it all?"

            "Different things. Like... gifts."

            "From whom?" He starts to reach into the bag and I cross the room in two strides and pull the bag out of his hands.

            "People I've saved," I say in a rush.

            Baz tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. "That is... so adorable it hurts, Snow. You collect things from the people you help?"

            "Well, they give me things, don't they? To say thank you."

            "Someone gave you a cracked moonstone?"

            "No, we just took it from the werewolves in Soho and then it was broken so I figured no one would care if I just..." Baz is laughing. My cheeks burn and itch. I try not to let my magic get the best of me and breathe deep. " _What?_ "

            "It's nothing. I just can't believe I ever thought you were a super villain."

            I pull my chin back. "What, like before? When we were enemies?"

            "No, because you're the Humdrum." He slides open the bottom drawer and I drop my duffel bag inside. He pushes it closed again and stands, facing me.

            "I'm not the Humdrum," I argue. "He's just wearing my face. You _can't_ think I'm the Humdrum."

            Baz is looking at me like I'm crazy. He curls a lip back. "Bunce didn't tell you? She's left it for me? Oh, _Aleister Crowley!_ "

            "What?" Baz sits on the bed and covers his mouth with both hands. " _What?_ "

            "I need you to stay calm when you hear this, okay? Everything's going to be alright. Here—come here." Baz grabs one of my belt loops and pulls me to sit beside him on the bed. _What the hell is going on?_

 

BAZ

            Simon's expression goes from disbelief to anger to panic to horror and then cycles back through them all a few times for good measure. He doesn't say anything at all, just lets me explain everything Bunce and I already know. Simon created the Humdrum. He can't fight it without feeding it. He probably can't destroy it, or even touch it. _Simon_ is the greatest threat to magic.

            He doesn't believe me at first, but then I see realization pass over his face, right before despair.

            "You alright?" I raise my arm up around his shoulders but he abruptly stands.

            "When did you know?" he asks. "Once we saw him?"

            "Yes. Dr Lang figured it out and told Penny. That's why he was trying to set you off. Call the Humdrum, push you together, then— _Boom._ "

            I thought he'd be happy to hear that, because it means he was justified in vaporizing the bastard into thin air. But Snow looks like I've told him Father Christmas isn't real. Or that Father Christmas _is_ real, but is also Jack the Ripper. I can feel the room getting warmer.

            "Penny knew?" His voice is rising. I stand and try to put my hands on his shoulders, but he pushes me off again. His voice is a whisper of disbelief. "She fucking knew?"

            There's tears in his eyes. "Simon, you need to calm—"

            "I know! _I know._ I can't use magic. I can never use magic again. I'm making it worse." He laughs coldly and the laugh turns into a growl. "Even now, I'm making it worse."

            I cross my arms to keep myself from reaching out and trying to touch him again. I can see sweat forming on his temples. "Just... take a shower. I'll make us some breakfast. Come down when you feel better, alright?"

            Snow closes his eyes and nods, his jaw set so tight the muscles in his temple pulse. I leave him.

            When he comes down, dark wet curls dripping all over the hardwood, I can feel his magic is under control. Or burned itself out. He doesn't say a word, just eats his eggs and beans on toast solemnly. I sit next to him at the bar, covering my mouth out of habit.

            I tap his elbow with my own. "Hey. Chosen One. It's going to be okay."

            I put my hand on the back of his neck and massage some of the tenseness away. He closes his eyes and sighs, still looking forlorn.

            "We'll find a way to fix it. Until then, you can control your magic. I know you can."

            He turns to me and opens his blue eyes. He looks so put out, I have to laugh a little. Because I've had time to come to terms with it. Because I know it's going to be alright. Because now he's here and _everything's_ going to be alright.

            "There's nothing you can't do, Simon."

            Simon slides his arms between mine and wraps them around my waist, leaning his head into my shoulder. It's a struggle to keep us both up on the bar stools.

            "You don't have to come to the shops with me. If you're not feeling up to it."

            "No." He sniffles a little into my shirt. "I don't want to sit here alone thinking about this all day. Let's go."

            I rub his warm back and feel all the bones in his spine. I make a mental note to check the fat content on everything we buy at the shop.

            "Do you want to come to work with me? You'll have to borrow a suit."

            "No werewolves?" he asks. I think he must still be worried about going off.

            "Not today. Just bankers."

            "I think I'd be more help with the werewolves."

* * *

            I make Snow wait in the car. He almost wouldn't let me buy him chocolate biscuits, so I'm sure he's not going to let me do this for him. I come back out twenty minutes later with his new number already programmed in my phone.

            I get back in the car and throw a brand new phone in his lap. He picks it up and it starts ringing.

            "Who is it?" I ask, giving a curious look.

            He reads the screen, eyebrows furrowed, and laughs. "My boyfriend, apparently."

            "Then you better pick up."

            He swipes his thumb across the screen and answers the phone: "Hello."

            I hold my own phone up to my ear. "Happy Birthday."

            "You can't. This is like... proper new. And I'm just going to have to give it back when we go back to Watford."

            "You won't be at Watford forever," I point out. He looks uncertainly down at the phone in his lap. "And you can't come to work with me _every_ day. We can keep in touch when I'm on the road. _And_ you can call Bunce, now." That's what does it. What turns the guilty unsure look on his face into one of excitement. "Try her."

            He adds her number to his phone from mine and calls. "I'll put it on speaker."

            It rings seven times and Snow starts to shake his head when Bunce finally answers with a groggy, "Who's this?"

            "Penny. Guess where I am."

            " _Simon?_ " She sounds far away and confused.

            "Yeah."

            "Guess where _I_ am, Simon."

            "I give up."

            "Chicago. _America_. It's five in the morning."

            "Oh, Merlin! I'm sorry." Simon's laughing, and the look on his face... I lean over the gap and kiss him on the cheek. "Baz is here."

            "Fantastic. I'm happy for you."

            "I'll call you back! I'm sorry, Penny."

            "Mhmm." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

            I lick my lips. "Good birthday present?"

            He makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost a laugh. "This is my _first_ birthday present.  I mean, aside from weird letters from the Mage..."

            "Oh, now that's pathetic. If I'd known it was your first I would have got you something meaningful, not an iPhone."

            "No! Really. It's perfect." Snow holds it to his chest like he's afraid I'll snatch it back. "But you have to take a picture with me, okay?"

            I roll my eyes. "Alright. Quickly. We need to get on the road."

          I lean over and he holds out the phone. I have a feeling he's going to start snapping pictures of everything now. I see his smile repeated on the screen. Just as he takes the picture, I turn and kiss his cheek again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you're my favorite people!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> song from last chapter that is also for this one:  
> [ I Want You ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xzA1KDxKXZw&index=6&list=PL0p4IXFGBheM8X0eJ46cAhnuvDmc1lyzA)
> 
> This chapter's other song is an oldie but a good... one to cry to:  
> [ Between the Bars ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4cJv6s_Yjw&index=2&list=PL0p4IXFGBheM8X0eJ46cAhnuvDmc1lyzA)
> 
> (don't worry the boys are ok!)

SIMON

           Baz's suit looks like it was made for him. It probably _was_ made for him. It's black with a white shirt and a thin black tie, and it makes him look even more like a gangster than usual with his hair slicked back again.

           I'm in blue. Navy, I guess. The shoulders are a little tight, but at least I don't have to wear a tie. Though Baz made me put something in my hair to make it lay flat. It looks almost wet, it's so dark. I don’t look at all like myself, which is probably a good thing.

           I'm under strict instructions not to talk if I don't have to. I'm thankful for that, I have no idea what I'd say anyway.

           When we arrive at the bank, I reach into the back seat for the binders, but Baz stops me.

           "The black. The blue ones are for the Normal bank."

           " _Normal_ bank?"

           "In case this doesn't work out. Then we're in sporting equipment, if you’re asked." He reaches back and grabs the black binders.

           We walk through the glass doors of a beige stone building that looks identical to all the ones around it. An older man with white hair wearing a tan suit is sent out for us. I suppose he's the man we're here to see about a loan. At least, Baz seems to know exactly who he is on sight.

           Baz introduces himself as Basil, but the loan person calls him Mr Pitch and me Mr Lang the whole time. I don't correct him, I don’t think I’m supposed to. (He told us his name when we shook hands but it went right out of my head.) We sit down in his equally beige and non-descript office, and he starts to ask us questions from behind his dark wood desk. Baz goes over the business plan, the investors, collateral, even shows a list of potential customers when the banker questions our ability to find a market for the harness. (No names, of course. They've all been assigned numbers instead of names to protect their identities.)

           I stay completely silent, as planned. Baz said all I have to do is smile and look charming. The man behind the desk seems impressed, and I'm just doing my best to not look hopelessly confused. I didn't even know there _were_ banks for mages until we got here half an hour ago. Much less that it would be right on King Williams Street in London.

           Besides, Baz is doing fine without any help from me. He must have given this spiel a lot of times, because he's ready with answers as soon as the bank guy asks them. Just when I think the meeting is over and Baz has gotten exactly what he wants, the man in the tan suit says, "Well, gentlemen, I wish you all the best of luck but I'm afraid we just couldn't agree to such a loan at this time."

           "What?" I blurt in surprise, and Baz gives me a look. Wasn't this guy listening to the same presentation I was?

           "You've obviously put a lot of work into this, and if the thing actually worked—"

           "Of course it works!" I can feel myself getting heated, but it's just anger. No magic. "I've seen a thirteen year old girl, scared she's going to kill everyone she loves, get her life back because of this. Doesn't that mean something to you?"

           "Simon," Baz warns, but the man answers me.

           "I understand, and while that's very touching, it is not our policy to give out such a loan to someone who's only eighteen. If your father were involved in the process—"

           "I'm sorry, but that's not possible," Baz answers coolly.

           "I'm sure you understand, Mr Pitch," the man continues, "young men such as yourselves," he gestures to both of us, "have a hard time keeping focus. This isn't something you can do for a fun and then move on. This is a business. It's going to take dedication—"

           "Do you think he's going to give up?" Baz puts a hand on my arm, but I ignore it. "I've known this stubborn arsehole for seven years and he's never given up on anything."

           "Simon, please give us a moment," Baz says, and it's not a suggestion. That’s it. I've cocked it up completely. But I couldn't help it. He'd already told us no, so I figured we had nothing to lose. (And if he just knew... if he just knew Baz like I do...)

           Brilliant. Baz is going to go spare. I wait another half an hour in the lobby, and I can’t tell if that's good or bad. When he finally comes out, I can't read the expression on his face. He just looks politely disinterested and we both shake the bank man’s hand. He doesn't say anything the whole walk back to the car park. I've bottled it, I’m sure, but then we get to the car and he throws his arms around my neck. He doesn't kiss me, the car park is full of people getting off work. It's a Monday afternoon in central London, half a block from the Thames.

           "Is this good, or are you trying to strangle me slowly?" I ask. I want to hug him back, but I'm too aware of everyone watching.

           "It's good." He pulls back so I can see he's smirking. "You, who can't string two sentences together at school, _you_ knew what to say!"

           I pull my head back and blink at him. "No I didn't, I was just hacked off. _You_ had it. Did we get it then?"

           "Not what we were asking for, but enough." He unlocks the car and I walk to the far side and get in. "He said we clearly had passion, that's you. And that we clearly knew what we were doing, that's me." I punch his arm. "And that he'd never be able to give us the full amount, but that he'd feel like an idiot if he turned us away. He said it'd be like turning down the Beatles, and I said, 'Guitar groups _are_ on their way out.' and he laughed and—"

           Baz runs both his hands through his hair and gives a half-shout, half-laugh. He's so exhilarated, I'm laughing with him.

           Baz calls Ani to tell her the good news and I think I can hear her sniffling over the speakerphone. Then he calls his dad. I only hear Baz's side of that call. He's collected himself by then. He's still got a fire in his voice, but it's more restrained. Baz's dad must suggest Baz go down for a congratulatory dinner because Baz says, "No, no, we made reservations in the city, in case it went well."

           I know that's not true, but when he gets off the phone, Baz insists we actually do celebrate someplace nice. This time, I can’t use the excuse that I’m not dressed for it.

           I can't read the menu, everyone looks impossibly posh, and there's too many forks on the table for two people. I'm so uncomfortable, I keep trying to tug at my hair, but then I remember it's pasted flat. Baz has to order for me. (Pea soup and red wine. Raspberry crème brulée for dessert. I find out later he made me eat steak from a horse, but hell if it wasn't delicious, too.) It's not as bad as I thought it would be, being in Baz’s world. Something about Baz's confidence, it's like he's sharing it with me like I share my magic.

           Baz takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves before we drive home. I can't stop myself from looking at his bare, pale forearms. Merlin, he makes me crazy. _Who gets turned on by forearms?_ Maybe it's the wine. I don't know, I've never had it before. But he holds my hand on the shifter all the way back to the lodge, so at least there's that. He's crazy with me.

* * *

           The bed here is more than twice the size of the ones at Watford. I don't think we're going to be using all of it, though. We lie on our sides, less than a foot apart.

           I felt so crap this morning. I mean, maybe it wasn't the worst news of my life, but it's certainly up there. In the top three at least. Finding out the villain I've been fighting all this time was me. That my best friend hid it from me, even if she didn't believe it. And all the people hurt, because of some _glitch_. Because I have too much power, so I created a hole... Not a prophecy, just an accident.

           But at least now I know. At least now I just won't do it. I won't use magic, I won't go off. And no one has to know. And we'll find a way to stop it. And Baz is going to help...

           "What colour were your eyes before you Turned?" I want to think about something else.

           "I don't know." Baz blinks, taken aback by the question.

           "Aren't there pictures?"

           "I'm sure there are some. I think my father might have put them away. I've looked for pictures of my mother but..."

           "And you've never asked anyone?" I ask.

           "No. Who would I ask?"

           "But they weren't grey, do you think? Because sometimes... "I hesitate. "Sometimes they look almost blue-green. Like... deep water, or something."  
            Baz looks embarrassed and turns his face away a little so I'll stop staring at him. _Fat chance._ "I don't know."

           "You know, it's funny," I start, "all the things we don't know like... I've known you forever and I don't even know your favourite colour."

           He looks back at me now, rubbing his cheek into the pillow, getting comfortable.

           "Green."

           "Like Watford green? Or like grass or... Mountain Dew or something?" I grin.

           He looks off to the left, picturing it in his head. "Green like... right after it rains. When it's so green you can feel it... What's yours?"

           "Blue?"

           "Is that a question?"

           "It's calming. Or maybe red. Liverpool red—"

           "Did you just say that?" he cuts me off. "Did you really just say that? I _knew._ From the day we watched that match together." He props himself up on his elbows and scoffs. "You support them don't you, you chavvy sod!"

           He reaches a hand over, jabbing at my ribs. It tickles so much and he's too strong for me to pull his hand away. I kiss him between laughs to make him stop, and it works.

           (He's so easy.)

           "Well now you know so you may as well tell me. Who's your team?" I tilt my chin up.

           He presses his lips together like he's not going to tell me. "Guess."

           "Leeds." I've thought about this a lot.

           "No, but good guess. That's my father's team." He nods.

           "Manchester."

           " _Shit._ " Baz rolls his eyes and looks away. I know I'm right.

           "Really? So you were right then."

           "About what?" He shakes his head and narrows his eyes.

           "About this being the thing that breaks us up. I'm afraid I don't love you—" He starts tickling me again.  I try to roll away. "I don't love you anymore!"

           "You love me," he insists.

           "No." The word is choked out between laughs.

           "You love me." he says again, quieter.

           "Maybe." I gasp. He kisses me, still smirking. I open my mouth to deepen the kiss and he responds. His hands are still on my waist, and a moment later he squeezes again and I laugh right into his open mouth. I open my eyes and his look is so wicked...

           "I love you." I breathe out. "But you have terrible taste in everything."

           "Including you," he says between kisses. "But why Liverpool?"

           "Well, it's the team... innit?" I take a breath and prop my head up with my arm. "And the fans. Ever since I was little. I just felt like... their fans, _anyone_ belongs. They're all a family. It's ... bigger than football."

           "Like their song," Baz says.

           "Yeah, like the song." I can't believe he gets it. (And isn't taking the piss.) "Why Manchester?"

           "What kind of question is that? They're the best."

           "Would you ever play?" I ask. "For real I mean. You could. You're amazing."

           Baz blushes. He drank before we came to bed. (He doesn't let me come with him, but the deer here are overrun so it didn't take him long.) "I'm kind of cheating, aren't I?"

           "Like you care." I laugh.

           Baz pulls away and sighs.

           I grab for his hand. "I'm sorry. _You're not evil._ It's a reflex."

           He rests his head on his shoulder and his hair falls casting shadows over his forehead. "I am a little."

           And then... Baz leans forward and hovers over the spot on my neck that he likes to kiss. It takes me a second to realize what he's doing, and by then, my body is already tensing with expectation. But he won't ever kiss me. He'll just hold there, his cool breath making goose bumps on my neck, until I die of wanting.

           "You're so fucking evil," I say in a hushed voice. It's too much.

           He laughs menacingly and plants a wet kiss. I can exhale. My eyes close involuntarily.

 

Baz  
            "... I just think you could do it is all... Pitch on the pitch as Penny would say."

           Are we still talking about this? "Are you seriously still thinking about football?"

           "Yeah."

           "Well then what about Snow on the Pitch?" I half-smirk.

           " _Baz._ "

           I pull away. "No, I don't think with everything else going on, that I'm going to play in the premier league. What kind of question even is that?"

           "Well, dating a footballer is next best thing to being one." Snow's eyebrows flick up and then down again.

           "You _are_ dating a footballer." I narrow my eyes at him. "Do you have a thing for men in kits or—?"

           "Just _you_ in kits." He barks a laugh.

           "Well I'm sorry I didn't bring mine," I answer, my voice low.

           "What were you saying about snow on the pitch?" he asks. I can't tell if he didn't get the pun or—

           And then he tumbles me over.

* * *

           "Baz." Snow is whispering. I don't know what time it is, but it's too dark for even me to see. "Baz, I'm sorry. It's my fault. Your mum, it's my fault."

           "No, it's not Simon." I turn towards him. I wonder if he slept at all.

           "Yes it is. I created the Humdrum and he killed her. It's my fault. I'm so sorry." His voice is thick. He's been crying.

           "Stop. It's not your fault. It's alright, go to sleep." I reach out and place my hand on his neck; I can hear his pulse beating there. I kiss his temple and lay my cheek on his over warm brow.

           "I can't. I can't just let it go. It's all my fault."

           I give a deep sigh. Maybe it would have been better for Simon never to know. "Is the vampire who turned me responsible for all the werewolves I save?"

           "What? No."

           "Well I couldn't do it without him. I wouldn't have the strength to fight them, I'd have to use fire. I'd end up killing them all, like my ancestors... all the way back to the pyramids, probably. So why isn't he responsible? He made me."

           "Because you chose to do it, but it's not the same. I created something that can't _help_ but eat magic." Snow's voice is insistent. Like he _wants_ to be right about this. He wants it to be his fault.

           "I can't help but drink blood but I don't kill for it." Snow doesn't have an argument for this. "It's choosing this, too."

           "Do you think it's evil then... because..." he speaks in barely a whisper now. "Because it came from me? Did I make it selfish and hungry and greedy?"

           "I think," I shift so my cheek is pressed against his, I wrap my arm like a brace around his shoulders, " _if_ it's evil, it took all the evil there was in you. You're so bloody good, Simon Snow. Do you think the Humdrum sits up at night thinking about the people hurt because of him?

           " _I_ don't blame you, and it was _my_ mum, okay? So you don't get to blame yourself."

           It's a long time before he answers. "I'm always going to feel responsible. I have to end it. I have to make it right."

           "Alright, love. We will. But not tonight."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Song:  
> [ What You Wanted ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IRukn_YChM)
> 
> (Yes, Agatha gets her own chapter :))

AGATHA

            "That's bollocks." Penny isn't taking this well. I almost didn't call to tell her I'm not coming back to Watford. I didn't want her to try and talk me out of it. I _knew_ she wouldn't understand.

            "Look, they took Esdras to a refuge in the south of France. I looked into it and they're always looking for volunteers. My parents are ok with it so it's happening whether you're supportive or not."

            "But— _Agatha_. This is stupid! Running away to France." She sounds tinny and distant. And patronizing. "You got a C in French!"

            I grunt in frustration. "Well, they say immersion is the best way to learn a language. Anyway, now you know, so I guess I'll talk to you later."

            "Please, Agatha. I just don't want you to change your whole life because some guy was shit to you. He's not even coming back in the autumn."

            I already know that. He _can’t_ come back to Watford. And it's not about Dev, but of course she thinks it is. She thinks everything I do is because of "some guy." I'm just... _sick_ of magic. All anyone cares about is who's got it and who hasn't enough of it. Everyone fighting over power, trying to destroy each other. I thought I'd gotten away from that. I thought, at least at Watford, we were finally all on the same side. But people never really change, I guess. And you can't escape the war, unless you _really_ escape it.

            Guivres are highly unpredictable in the wild. (I've read everything I could about them.) If there's a food shortage, because of a natural disaster or something, they're likely to seek out _anything_ nearby with enough magickal power and feed on it. So in droughts, they may even go after a mage. Mages fear losing their magic _so much_ , they kill them on sight, whether they’re attacking or not. That's _why_ they're endangered.

            But in captivity, with regular feedings and care, they learn never to attack magicians. And even if one did attack, even if I lost my magic, it wouldn't _destroy_ me. Despite what Dev said, I'm not weak. There's more to me than magic.

            “Does Simon know you’re not coming back?”

            I want to say it’s none of his business, since apparently it was none of my business that he’s gay. That Baz is gay. That they’re…

            “I’m not the one who keeps things from their friends. How am I even supposed to contact him? He’s in foster care. We’re not allowed.”

            Penny is silent. _Suspiciously_ silent.

            She finally says, “Well, he’s not in care, actually. He’s staying with Baz.”

            I close my eyes. “So I’ll call the Pitches, my mother has the number.”

            “No! I’ll give you his mobile. They’re staying somewhere else.”

            Since when does Simon have a mobile? Does the Mage know about all of this? Something tells me the answer to that is a big fat no.

            As soon as I hang up with Penny, I dial Simon right away. The rush to get this over with diminishes with every ring. _Why am I doing this?_

            “Hello?” Simon’s voice cheerfully answers.

            “Hi Simon, it’s Agatha. I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to try and talk me out of it.”

            “Okay.” I can hear him smiling.

            I explain everything to silence. “Well? Simon?”

            “I’m here. I just… well, I think you should wait.”

            I huff into the phone.

            “Why go now? Graduate and then go. Come on, you knew I was going to say that. You’re my friend. I don’t want you to leave yet. This is our last year, all of us.”

            “You two— _three_ barely notice I’m there.”

            “That’s not true. You’re like the most important part. Who keeps us right?”

            “I don’t know.”

            "It's you, Agatha! You're the one always saying there's two sides to everything. Trying to always see the good in people. You were doing that to Baz for ages before it finally smacked me in the face that he's like, an _actual_ human being. I guess it finally sunk in."

            "Well, I'm glad I could help, then." I try not to sound sarcastic, but not very hard.

            "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm sorry, I just mean I need you. All of us need you. 'Both sides think they're doing what's right.' _You_ said that. You don't let your own feelings about things cloud your judgement."

            I scoff. "Yeah, right. I really saw right through Dev."

            "Yeah, but that was love, wasn't it? Love makes you stupid." Simon pauses, and I don't know what to say. Is _Simon_ in love? Or does he mean when he was in love with me? "Anyway, if you can't do it, come back that is, that's okay. We'll all understand. You have to do what will make you happy. But I'll miss you."

            I chew my lip. Why couldn't Penny just say _that_? "You're a good friend Simon. A much better friend than a boyfriend."

            "Ouch!” He laughs good-naturedly. “Hey, can you help me with something? You'll like it. I promise."

            "What?"

            "I have like... three shirts and one pair of jeans. I need to get some clothes before Baz notices I've worn the same thing four times. Can you help me? I don't have a car up here, it's kind of secluded, and I won't have any money until we get back to Watford—"

            "Simon, I'd love to go shopping. It's on me. For your birthday." Half the fun of dating him was dressing him. (And he _needs_ the help.)

            "No, really, let me pay you back."

            "I won't take it. Consider it an apology for... almost getting you eaten by a guivre."

            Simon exhales into the phone. "Apology accepted, but _Agatha_ ,” he stretches the first syllable of my name out, “ _don't_ worry about that. I already forgave you."

            I sit down on my bed. "But like... why, exactly?"

            "You _accidentally_ _almost_ did something Baz has _actually actively_ tried to do, and I've obviously forgiven _him_. Besides, I know you feel like crap, so..."

            I twist my mouth, not sure what to say. I do feel awful. And foolish. And _I_ don’t forgive me...

            "Really. It's okay, Agatha. You're a good person and I'm sorry Dev took advantage of that."

            Then suddenly I’m asking, "Is _Basil_ a good person? I mean, I know I didn't love you the way you wanted me to—"

            "Agatha—"

            "—but I still care about you. Are you sure he's..." I feel like an idiot. "Has he got you under a thrall or something? Can't he do that?"

            I thought for a while that maybe Dev had done something like that to me. Maybe used magic. But Penny says it doesn't work like that. That she'd looked into it when I first showed interest in him. ( _Simon_ asked her to.)

            Simon doesn’t laugh, thank magic. “I don’t think so. I still think he’s a right tosser half the time. He still drives me mental.”

            “But a tosser you want to kiss?”

            “Do you really want to talk about this?” he asks incredulously, a slight note of panic in his voice.

            “No, but not-talking about things hasn’t really worked out for us in the past, has it?”

            Simon gets quiet for a moment. “Why don’t you… stay for dinner, or something, when you come? Then you can see for yourself. When can you come?”

* * *

            Basil and Simon are making me dinner. I'm half expecting all my teeth to fall out, or Coach Mac to walk in with a maths exam, because this feels like a dream. 

            Right now, they’re fighting about _onions_. About how to cut them. Simon learned on YouTube while we waited for Basil to get back from... wherever Basil was. Simon said he was at work, but he's going back to work after dinner as well. I don't know what he does that requires him to dress like a lawyer during the day and a cat burglar at night, but I figure it's probably something to do with the war and don't ask.

            Basil keeps saying Simon is holding the onion wrong and is going to cut himself. Simon says Baz is a twat. Baz shows him how to do it again, and Simon says, “That _is_ what I’m doing. It just looks wrong to you because you’re left-handed. I know how to cut an onion.”

            "Oh, of course. This from the person who eats bread right from the bag like a monster. I'm supposed to trust _you’re_ a culinary expert?"

            Simon growls and leaves the knife on the counter. "Fine, chop away."

            "No, come here I'll show you," Basil says, and his voice is uncharacteristically soft. He puts his hand around Simon's, and though Baz's face stays expressionless, Simon's eyes flick to me and he blushes. (I _want_ to tell them to get a room, but apparently they've got a whole lodge.)

            I start twisting the stems off all the apples in the bowl on the counter. Shopping with Simon this afternoon was fun, at least. I’d missed just being friends with him. There’s a lot less pressure to be the Chosen One’s _friend_ than his girlfriend. I just had to pick out things for him to wear, not tie a yellow ribbon around a tree for him and wring my hands until he comes home. I guess it’s Basil’s ribbon and tree now.

            I think Simon would wear anything if I told him it makes him look fit. He never used to care about that, but then, he also was never this _cheerful_ all the time. It’s like he’s on a sugar rush permanently. Baz seems the same as always. He’s stone-faced and polite all through dinner, except when he’s making digs at Simon. It’s not until he leaves for “work” again that I notice anything off at all.

            Just as Baz is getting ready to go, he makes up some story about needing to get his keys from upstairs, when I saw him pull his keys out of his pocket half an hour ago. Maybe I’m being paranoid. (Being friends with Simon for seven years might have something to do with it.) But when Simon goes to the restroom right after I hear Basil close the front door, I feel like it’s my only chance to do something. I was wrong about Dev, I'm not going to make the same mistake again.

 

            I slip out the front door and there’s Basil, leaning against his car. He turns to me and hides something carefully behind his back. _I knew he was up to something._

            I dart around to the side of his car, skidding a little on the gravel and he startles and drops the thing he was hiding. It breaks into glowing orange sparks when it hits the ground.

            “You’re smoking?” I ask.

            He stamps the cigarette out with his heel. “Well, I _was_. _Don’t_ tell Snow.”

            “I’m not going to lie to him for you,” I say defiantly, crossing my arms. This isn’t exactly as big of a deal as my racing heart thought it would be, but if he’s lying about _this_ …

            “Fine, tell him. I wish you _would_ go to France,” Basil says menacingly. He pulls another cigarette out and lights it with his wand, then adds, “You should. Go. Do what you love. _I_ am.”

            I can’t tell if he means his job or Simon. I frown. He's so distasteful.

            “You think I’m going to leave him alone with you now? _They_ may trust you, but I don’t.”

            “Really? That’s what did it? You’re going to stay to keep an eye on me?” Basil is sneering at me now.

            “You _want_ me to stay?” I can feel a crease forming in between my eyebrows. I consciously relax my face.

            “Hence the reverse psychology. You wouldn’t listen to anyone when we told you to stay away from Dev, so I figured, tell you to go, you’ll stay.” He shrugs and flicks ashes away.

            “Why do you care?”

            “I don’t. But Snow does.” He balances the cigarette between his lips and digs his keys out. “And if Snow’s happy...”

            "He said you tried to kill him before. This is mental." I shake my head and my hair swishes back and forth over my shoulders. "Doesn't anyone else see that?"

            " _I'm sorry_ ," he says, without a hint of apology, "but do I need to remind you that you asked me out? I'm good enough for you, but not for him?"

            "Simon deserves better."

            "But you're ok with choosing shitty people for yourself? Is that why you dated Dev?"

            "Dev isn't a shitty person!" I stamp my foot involuntarily and immediately feel impetuous.

            "Alright, I get it." He scoffs.

            "No you don't!" I uncross my arms. "No one does, because no one even asked! You all just blame me for what happened and don't even care about what I was thinking or feeling."

            "Alright, then. Tell me.” He leans back against his shiny car and motions me forward.

            "No."

            "Why not? You _just_ said you wanted to."

            " _Because I don't trust you!_ "

            "Fine, don't tell me." I know what he's doing, but...

            "Because he made me feel special!" I've been trying to explain it to myself for ages. It feels good to say it. (Or shout it, rather.) "Because he made time for me, when you lot were too busy with werewolves and whatever else. Because he made me feel _normal_. You know how many times the Humdrum came up in conversation? Or the war? Or magic, even? Because he made me laugh, he was _smart_ —"

            "Come on now, _that's_ not true," Basil interjects.

            I stare at him, open-mouthed. "Why do you do that? Tear people down just because they're not as smart as _you_? Dev's not stupid, _Simon's_ not stupid—"  

            "Simon’s pretty thick,” he says through smoke.

            "He's your boyfriend! How can you say that?"

            "One has nothing to do with—" he starts, but I cut him off.

            " _Then why are you with him?!_ "

            "Because I love him!" he shouts, then looks embarrassed. _Mor-gan-a._ "For all the same reasons you did. Because he's..." he looks down and knocks his fingers against the cigarette, spraying ash again, " _perfect_. He's thick _and_ he's perfect, alright?"

            I'm shaking my head again. "But I didn't love him. Not like that." I look down at my suede flats, almost black against my white skin in the dark. "Maybe I can only love terrible people."

            "Did you love _me_ then?" he sneers.

            I roll my eyes. " _No._ "

            “Then you’re probably okay.” Basil smiles and... it looks _genuine._ He turns to hide it from me and blows the smoke from his cigarette downwind. "Look, you don't have to stay. Bunce has already promised to melt my eyeballs out of my head if I hurt him."

            "I don't think you're going to hurt him," I admit. Not after everything he just said.

            "He really wants you to stay."

            I cross my arms. "Simon's the only one of you numpties that's been even the tiniest bit supportive." Even Minty said it was a dumb idea. Although I did have to tell her it was an animal sanctuary. " _He_ told me to do what I want."

            Baz raises his eyebrows, shaking his head. "I _told_ you. He's thick."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's song: [Siren Song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6fHwd3eAHzs)
> 
> so here's the deal. I'm skirting closer to the territory of Carry On and I'm hella nervous. I don't want to mess it up, and it's such a like stupidly arrogant task to think I can rewrite Carry On and make it just as good. So that has significantly stalled the writing. know the majority of what I want to happen from here on out. I will finish if for no other reason than I don't want to let you all down. I love you all so much and thank you for hanging in there up to this point. To the new faces who found this because you liked the short Drarry shippers AU, welcome and thank you for joining and I'm sorry it happened just as I am taking a break haha  
> I hope to see you all again soon!

SIMON

            I keep thinking it’s too much, I’m too happy, and eventually I'm going to burst. But when you’re this happy, when you share it with someone, it’s like new places inside you open up. There's always room.

_When Baz is here._

            He's been gone a lot in the evenings, and Baz stayed out all night for the full moon. I couldn't sleep. I was too afraid I'd go off and burn the whole lodge down. So I just pulled the shades and waited for him to come home. At least, now that I have a phone, he can text me so I know he's ok.

            I feel so useless. Can’t use magic. Even calling my sword takes magic. I can't help him at all anymore.

            So I just hang around the lodge. I like it here. It’s a lot cosier than Baz’s real house. If _I_ were the Grimm-Pitches, I’d move here instead of that gothic nightmare. So far, it’s at least not haunted here. And the furniture is more modern, the art less like it belongs in a museum. There’s a framed photo in the study of a lone stag I quite like. (And the head of a stag that quite creeps me out.) (I suppose Baz has probably drained a whole herd of deer and other things just this summer, but at least that’s not for fun.)

            I’ve never had this much time to myself. Even Netflix and the Internet can’t fill all of it. Sometimes I read. Call Penny, if she's alone and can talk. As far as she can tell from her mother and father, no one knows yet I'm missing. I take a lot of walks. Pop down to the shops, if it’s not raining and I don’t mind a long walk. If Baz is gone at night, sometimes I go out on the balcony off the master bedroom and look at the stars. I never can see the stars in the summer. Wherever I end up, it’s always too bright. Sometimes I fall asleep waiting.  


BAZ

            When I get back, it’s after midnight. I wait in the car just a moment. Sometimes Snow hears me pull up and comes out. I feel deservedly exhausted. I followed a lead today on a Reddit cryptid board and found a kid on a farm in Little Walsingham. He’d been posting about how to get chicken blood out of his jeans, and the only other thing he’d commented on was a list of alibis for the full moon. That one thread has netted me seven clients. And sometimes one client will lead to another… someone they’ve bitten, or who bit them.

            But now that I’ve found him, I'll have to find a sponsor. Someone to help him pay for the harness. I close my eyes and lean my head back into the leather headrest. That’s a problem for tomorrow me.

            It’s fine. We’ve found a way to pay for every one so far. Out there, I know what the hell I’m doing. But here…

            I have no fucking idea. The Humdrum is still out there, eating magic. The war is getting worse. The Old Families talked about pulling their sons out of Watford the other night. I couldn’t tell what my father was thinking, so I didn’t say anything at all. I’m not ready to go yet. Not ready to leave the last place that still feels like _hers_.

            I don’t think that’s even occurred to my father. All he thinks about is the war. He’s paying Coven members to stop going to meetings. Waste of money. They don’t accomplish anything even when they’re all _there_. 

            I open my eyes. Snow hasn’t come out yet. I go in and find him after a while on the balcony. When I open the door, he stirs.

            “Did I wake you?”

            “No. Welcome home! Do you want anything? Are you hungry?” He says it all in a rush, and rubs his palm into his right eye.

            I sit down beside him in the nest of blankets and pillows he’s made. They’re dewy from the humidity. Snow’s leaned back on his elbows. I pull my knees up to my chest. If I lie down, we’ll both fall asleep out here.

            “I’m fine,” I answer him.

            I think being stuck out here alone messes with Snow’s head. He’s constantly worrying about me. Or maybe that’s just how Snow is when he cares about you. It’s still something to get used to, him caring about me. For both of us. I think we pick fights every so often just to balance it out.

            “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he starts, “since Agatha visited. Do you have a thrall?”

            “A what?”

            “A thrall. To lure people to them. Don’t vampires have a…” His voice trails off as I start laughing. My laughter echoes in the woods around us. Snow’s always asking me questions now about being a vampire. Questions I’m not entirely equipped to answer.

            “If I do, I don’t know how to use it. I would have used it on you ages ago.”

            “I’m not sure you didn’t,” he says, face pointed up to the stars. “Baz…”

            Sometimes I think Snow practices his conversations with me in his head all day. Something in his voice that sounds rehearsed. I'll walk in the door and he's there waiting with a kiss, just brimming with things to say, questions to ask me. He doesn’t bluster like he used to. But now his face is serious. I try to clear my own face, ready for whatever comes next.

            “Baz, I found Philippa today.”

            My head turns with a snap to look at him. “How?”

            “This magic spell called Facebook. I didn’t think it was her at first, she’s in America now. She attends a school for the deaf. She's learned to sign.”

            I look down at my knees. 

            “Can she…?” I let the question hang in the air.

            “Yeah,” he tosses his head and rubs his leg. It must be stiff from sleeping on the wooden planks. “I guess it’s just the same, signing spells or saying them. Magic doesn’t care.”

            “Fine,” I say.

            Simon looks over at me, sees my face. His eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. “Don’t act like you don’t care. I was there. I saw how you looked when it was her instead of me.”

            I tilt my chin up and sneer. “I was just disappointed.”

            “No. You felt terrible.”

            I roll my eyes. “Maybe you were projecting.”

            He sits fully up now. He’s frowning and his jaw is jutting out. “Why do you do that?”

            I don’t answer him.

            “Why can’t you just be honest? I _know_ you’re relieved. At least a little bit.”

            I stare at him. It’s so dark out here, maybe he _can’t_ see me. I let my face fall a little and close my eyes. I’m too tired to fight.

            “Okay,” I say.

            “Are you… are you glad I told you?” he asks. Snow puts a hand on my knee and pulls my leg toward him, before pushing it back playfully.

            “Yes,” I answer, looking at his hand. Why is it easier to fight with him than tell the truth? “Is that everything? Can we go to bed now?”

            “Will you teach me to swim tomorrow? It’s going to rain.” Snow asks this almost every day. It’s been too sunny for me to bear. And I’ve been too busy.

            “I have to work.”

            “Can't you put it off a day? It’ll be sunny again the rest of the week.”

            The leads are getting fewer and further in between. The next full moon is still a week off. There’s no need to rush, but... I _feel_ like there is. Like if I don’t find them all, and soon, something terrible will happen. Is this how Snow’s felt all these years? Like everything hinges on him? How does he fucking bear it?

 

SIMON

            Baz’s screams wake me. My eyes snap open and the lights flick on by themselves. No, _not_ by themselves. I must have done it.

            Baz is curled up, facing away from me, bare shoulder hiding his face. I’m afraid to touch him in case I frighten him.

            “Baz,” I whisper, but it seems too harsh. I try again, “Basil… it’s okay. Baby, you’re dreaming.”

            I hardly brush his icy shoulder and he sits violently up, scaring the shit out of me. My heart races. He inhales sharply and covers his face.

            “It’s okay,” I repeat. “Come here. It wasn’t real.”

            Baz doesn’t move so I put my arms around him and lay my cheek against his shoulder blade. He’s cold and sweaty. His heart is beating almost as fast as a normal person’s; I can feel it under my hand. I rub my other hand against his back, trying to warm him a little.

            When he starts to catch his breath, I ask what he was dreaming. Baz just shakes his head. I don’t know if he ever remembers.

            Back when things were bad between us, he used to have night terrors all the time. It was just like before, that same muffled scream. Like he was in pain. Like he’s being attacked. _Maybe he’s dreaming about the day he was Turned…_

            Baz pushes out of my arms and slips out of bed. He goes to the dresser and pulls out a shirt—he has these extra soft ones that are specifically for sleeping in. No tags. He slips it over his head and crawls back into bed. He must be cold, but he doesn’t touch me. I can see his fangs have popped, even though his hair is covering his face. I brush it back, and his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. I move to kiss his cheek, but he feels my movement and turns away.

            I pull back and exhale in frustration. I'm tired and it's making my patience short. _Why is he like this?_

            I get up and turn off the lights, banging about as I do. I’m standing there, arms crossed, trying to decide if I’ll even be able to sleep now, when Baz whispers, “I can’t do this.”

            I feel suddenly empty, like someone pulled a plug inside of me. I try not to think what I’m thinking.

            “What?” It comes out harsh. My hands shake, anticipating my magic, or maybe it’s already here. Sometimes I can’t feel it until…

            “Play the hero with you. I can’t. It’s not—” His voice catches.

            Baz never loses his cool. Baz _is_ unflappably cool. Even when he’s angry, or scared, or soft, he never loses control.

            I sit on the side of the bed and he shifts back to make room for me. I pull him into my arms, and he doesn’t resist.

            “What the hell did you dream?” I brush his soft hair back out of his face. He shakes his head into my chest. I wish I knew what to say. I wish I was better with words. I wish…

            Baz turns his face into me, like he wants to bury himself in me. His hand rising up my chest to come to rest on the back of my neck, his thumb pressed just below my jaw. I can feel my pulse beating against it.

            “Did you bite me? In the dream,” I whisper. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t deny it. My heart hurts. “I’m not afraid of you. I trust you. Basil, I trust you.”

            Baz’s hand slips down to my collar bone. To the chain I still wear out of habit. Baz took the cross months ago. I don't know what he's done with it. I ask him, “Are you afraid of me?”

            He finally answers, firmly, “No.”

            “Good. Then everything’s alright.” _You’re alright, Baz,_ I want to say. I don’t know why I don’t.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basilnsage735 actually sent me this song and i think it's perfect for this chapter. my only complaint is that this song isn't like 10% slower. then it would be perfect. (i always drop it to .75 speed on youtube haha)
> 
>  
> 
> [ Except for Us ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KGnmXHtoJ8)

BAZ

            When I wake up, I can hear rain on the window. Snow is moving around in the bathroom, incapable of keeping quiet once he's awake.

            When he re-enters the room he says, “Good! You’re up,” in an overly cheerful voice.

            I pull a pillow over my head. “Why did you have to be a morning person?”

            “It’s not morning,” he answers. “It’s already afternoon. So I guess you’re not going to work today. Better call and tell Ani you're sick."

            He sounds positively ecstatic.

            "Do you think I answer to little Lang?" I pull the pillow up to yell out to him.

            "Then why don't you take more days off? Spend them with me." He comes to lie stomach down on the bed, his arms tucked under him, angling to see my face under the pillow. I shove the pillow in his face, grab another and cover my head again.

            "Do you take days off of being the Chosen One? Or days off from being bloody annoying?" I ask.

            "Yeah. I'm taking this whole summer off, actually. I'm not even thinking about it. In fact, we're not even talking about it. It's off limits."

            I pull the pillow off and slam it into my hip with a groan. "You're going to talk at me in until I get up, aren't you?"

            "Yes. Get your swimsuit."

            "I don't have one," I answer. It’s the truth.

            "Well good thing I bought two then." He bounces away with a cheeky smile. I don't know what's wrong with me. Simon Snow wants to spend the day with me, shirtless and glistening, and I'm actually debating it. Fifteen-year-old me would punch current me right in the face.

            I sigh and sit up. Snow pulls open his drawer and throws me a pair of red trunks.

            "How'd you even buy these?" I ask.

            "I got tired of doing nothing every day. I mow your neighbour's lawns."

            "We don't have any neighbours for at least five kilometres."

            "Four. And I know."

            I know how lonely it must be for Snow here. I don’t know what it’s like in care, I don’t ask. But at Watford he has more friends and acquaintances than I think he can keep count of. All he has here is me. _Occasionally_ Wellbelove. I can smell when she visits.

            "Alright. We'll go swimming in the rain. But if you catch cold—"

            "Then you'll nurse me back to health?" Simon bends over the bed to kiss me, his breath minty. His hair smells like apples. He almost never smells of wood smoke anymore.

*** * ***

            I'm a terrible teacher. When I help Mordelia with maths, or try to teach her tennis, I inevitably end up driving her to tears. I'm impatient, and never think to give any encouragement. Pointing out what someone is doing _right_ just seems like a waste of time. So I'm sure this is going to go straight to hell.

            But Snow seems to thrive on being discouraged. He's fairly panicking just treading water, and when I bark at him to relax, he closes his eyes, clears his face. Bounces a few times along the bottom, and then tries again. Calm this time, quietly earnest. (Though still furiously kicking.)

            I push through the cool, grey lake water to him and put my hands on his waist. He stops kicking and lets me hold him in place.

            "You don't have to work so hard. You'll tire too fast like that. You're not going to drown in a meter and a half of water." He smiles down through the cloudy water to where my hands are.

            Without warning Snow flings his arms around my neck, knocking me in the chin with his shoulder. The rain is still falling lightly, just a mist, and it's so hot out it's almost a relief. _Snow_ is so hot... I can feel his magic again. It's been so long I'm not expecting it, and it's less grating than when it was buzzing along under the surface all the time. It’s drawing me toward him, like being drawn into a warm bath. He wraps his legs around my hips.

            I grab him by the shoulders and push my head back, sneering. "You know, you're not actually swimming when you just cling on to me, right?"

            "Yeah, but this is more fun." I dive down so he's forced to let go, push off him and swim away.

            "Do you think I'm going to bring you down?" He laughs. He's half-breathless from trying to keep afloat.

            "No. You can't weigh eight stone." I backstroke away from him. "If you want to hang on to me, you've got to swim out here and catch me."

            Snow braces himself, then pushes off from the rocky bottom. He's heading slowly and awkwardly in my direction, limbs all a-flail. Struggling to keep his head above water.

            "You know babies are born able to swim, Snow?" The look of concentrated panic on his face flickers to an exasperated grin. " _Monkeys_ can do it, Snow."

            When he doggie-paddles close enough to reach me, I slip out of his grasp again.

            "Hey!' he gasps. I can't touch the bottom, so I know he can't. I let him struggle a moment, then move slowly to meet him halfway. Snow throws his arms around my neck again, desperately hanging on to me. Suddenly, everything in me is cranked up to eleven. His magic making me feel warm and drunk. His wet hair, his mouth open...

            "I could get used to you holding onto me for dear life," I say.

            He smiles, still trying to catch his breath. "Okay. Let's do this every day, then."

            I start to lean back, just letting us float, and I can feel Simon's hips bump against mine. "Even when we go back to Watford? Ignoring the merwolves, I think people will talk."

            "What are you on about, we're never leaving here." Snow tilts his chin up, daring me to argue.

            I raise my eyebrows. "Aren't we?"

            "No. Never."

            "Okay. We can swim every day then," I say, even though I don't even want to be swimming _now_. I want to be back at the lodge. I want to wash the lake off of him. I want to do unholy things to Simon Snow. I want to—  


SIMON

            I wonder if I only think Baz is so good at kissing because he learned with me; he only _knows_ what I like. But then, that can't be all of it, because I didn't teach him to suck on my tongue. (I can't even think when he does that.)

            And I wonder how I know what _he_ likes. He never told me to kiss him just below his ear where his neck and jaw meet. Gently at first, then harder. He didn't have to. Just the way he tilts his face away, so I'm right there, like an invitation.

            And when Baz kisses my stomach and it feels fucking electric. Like a current, sparking from his lips near my hip bone all the way to the back of my throat. Who told him that? I never have. Just like he didn't have to tell me that drawing circles on his chest with my fingertips feels lovely. I can tell, because his eyes go lovely, too. No one had to tell me what that look meant.

            We just know. We just _fit_. Like his thin fingers between mine. Agatha's hand always felt too small, frail, and I was always a little afraid I'd hurt her. Squeeze too hard. Once, I bit her lip and she gasped. But Baz...

            I was afraid to hurt him, too, at first. Especially since it's nearly impossible to make Baz bruise. I didn't know how to know when I'd gone too far. I never _do_ seem to go too far. Even when he sucks air in with a hiss, I know now he doesn't want me to stop. If I pull away— to see his face, to check he's okay— he'll put a hand in my hair and hold me there.

            And then _he_ gasps, but not with pain. (Or not _just_ with pain.) It's my favourite sound. Because I know he can't help it. Can't control it. I know it's real.

            Only then does he let me pull away, move back over his mouth. Kiss him slowly, let the current run back down my spine again. _It feels like this every time._ (Though we must have kissed a thousand times by now. I lost count ages ago.) Like he's lighting me up. Like nothing I've ever felt. Like... like...

 _Magic_ isn't good enough a word for what this is.

            Baz likes it when I call him darling. He doesn't have to say anything. When I say it, after, half joking (and only because I heard it in a film the other day), his eyes close and he pushes my hair back. One side of his mouth curls into a satisfied smile.

            I decide to save it. I won't call him it all the time. Only for moments like this. The look on his face is too precious. If I use it too much, it might wear out. Might not have the same effect, and I don't want to lose this. Not when he looks so fucking... beautiful.

*** * ***

            I think for second my magic woke me; I’d been struggling to keep a handle on it all day. I sit up and put a hand to my face, but I don't feel warm. I'm about to go back to sleep when a shape in the dark startles me.

            "Are you alright?" Baz asks. He's sitting on the edge of the bed; I can only just make him out.

            "Yeah. What are you doing?"

            "Can't sleep."

            "Lie down. Come here." I don't want him to sit up like that, alone in the dark. He lies on his side and I move over to him. "Did you have another nightmare?"

            "I haven't been to sleep."

            That can't be right. There's a grey line above the window that I know means dawn is close.

            "What's wrong?" I push his hair up off his neck and kiss him there. When I put an arm around him, he holds it in place with his own. He's so cold, I try to press all of me against him. I try again. "Tell me what's wrong."

            "Nothing. Snow, just... let's go to sleep."

            Why does he do that? After everything that happened tonight. Even when we're this close, he puts a wall up between us. Calls me Snow like nothing's changed. I put my face into his hair, my left arm wedged uncomfortably beneath me, and tighten my other arm around him. It doesn't matter. I'm here. I'm right here. He can't shut me out.

            " _I'm here_."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all for being patient. I'm behind in my summer class (yikes!) so I've not had much time to write. Love you all!!
> 
> this chapter's songs are  
> [ Daughter - Smother](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GnkzvAXWV-0)  
> and  
> [ Seafret - Oceans ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpdXBjwXbMg)

BAZ

            Fuck August.

            I know it's irrational to hate a month of the year, but August deserves it. The sun seems closer even though I know it's not. And every year it just drags on while the excitement and dread of going back to school comingle in my stomach. I don't have to be worried or anxious about living with Snow again, he's right here beside me. But it's still worse this year, because it's the last. I can't stop thinking that it's all coming to an end. That everything will be decided. That I'm going to have to leave the one place where I can still feel my mother. Like she’s right there in her office, or down in the Catacombs.

            I have to go back. I have to finish. It's what she would have wanted, and whatever else she would have wanted is impossible now.

            Outside, the war ticks on. Wales has stopped tithing. Dark creatures attacking just outside of London. There are whispers that the Mage is going to raid private homes. The holes in the magickal atmosphere keep creeping open, even though Snow's been calm all summer. He's fine.

            No, I don't know that. We don't talk about it. He just keeps smiling and I don't ask. Because I'm afraid of the answer. If Bunce is right, if he can't do it, if it's up to me...

            Time is slipping by too fast. I just want things to slow down. I lie in bed, perfectly still, because that's how I can make the days pass the slowest. I try not to even know the date, or the days of the week, but when I have to get up for work, it's inevitable.

            Although, something's happened. Something shifted. Through word of mouth, I guess. I'm not looking for clients anymore, they're looking for _me_. And offers of donations for harnesses are pouring in faster than we can find customers. They all want to tell me their stories, the donors. Good Samaritans. People who have lost loved ones.

            The harnesses have been out there working for two moons. And once you pull the thread, it just keeps on coming. Our customers can't help themselves: they tell the person who Turned them, the people they've Turned, the people they've met online when frantically, desperately trying to cope. They do all the recruiting for me. Right on down the line.

            And they're not the only ones talking about us. It's all over. Even at the club, my father says. People don't talk about such undesirable things as _werewolves_ at the club. And I'm sure it's the first time the Lang family name has passed anyone's lips there. (Except perhaps derisively.) There was an article about the company in the Record, with our picture. The look on the photographer's face when Ani showed up with her mum, and I told him _she_ was the head of the company...

            We've got employees. Two who make the harnesses full time now. Little Lang hired someone to do marketing, too. Jill. She does our ads. _We have ads_. We're even talking about hiring an American me, to start the groundwork _there_.

            When Snow overhears this, he asks, "Can't we hire a British you? Then you can just be you?"

            But I don't think we'll need to. I don't even know what I _do_ in the business anymore. I'll have to train the new me, but then what? I guess this is what happens when you do your job too well. When you fix something that's broken. I've run myself out of the family business.

            I suppose I should be grateful. Now we can just go back to school, focus on that. Focus on defeating the Humdrum.

            It's almost the day, the _worst_ day, when Snow drops the bomb on me. I've taken all my phone calls from bed today. Snow made me breakfast, but I wasn't up. So now he's brought me cheese toasties, an apple, and water. I think it's afternoon still.

            I'm trying to eat a sandwich, propped on one elbow, without getting crumbs all in the bed when Snow says, "I don't think I can go back to Watford."

            "Why not?" My tone is too sharp. Why the hell is he telling me this now?

            "It's... it's me, my magic. I can't... I can't use it without—and I can't tell the Mage."

            I agree with him, but I can't believe he's said that. "Why not?"

            "Because if he knew, well, wouldn't he do just what Dr Lang did? Try to put a stop to me?"

            "To the Humdrum," I correct him. He's practiced this speech, too, I can tell.

            "It would be—he would have to. If he knew. But you and Penny think there might be another way. So when she gets back, we should work on that instead. Nonstop."

            I swallow a buttery, cheesy bite. "You think you're going to convince Bunce and I to drop out of Watford?"

            "You have to see this is more important. The _only_ thing that's important."

            Watford is Simon's home. **_No Place Like Home_** took him there. How can he be thinking about never going back?

            "But this is it. It's the last year. You can't expect me to... No Pitch has ever dropped out of Watford." I move the plate over to the nightstand. I sit cross-legged facing Snow. "We can work on this there."

            "But you'll be distracted."

            "I won't be." Snow's shaking his head. He won't use magic until the Humdrum is gone, but you can't even get past the gates at Watford without it. "I can't stay here."

            School is it. It's the only place… Can't he see that's all I've got?

            Snow looks like I've slapped him. "Where am I going to go without you?"

            "You won't. You'll come home to Watford. I'll do your schoolwork. You'll keep your magic to a minimum—"

            "Baz, I can't do it _at all_!" Snow leans forward, shoulders slumped, elbows on his knees. "What if that brings it back. What if I lose control?"

            "You won't, you can control it. You're better."

            "But it won't matter. I'll draw the Humdrum there. If he sends something, if anyone else is hurt because of me—" Snow's voice shakes, but I don't feel his magic. I almost never feel it anymore. I try to point that out to him, but he just shakes his head. He's not even listening now.

            "I thought you were brave," I snap.

            Snow's head jerks up, insult and anger written on his face.

            "Fuck you," he says.

            "I mean it. You want to just hide here? Let everyone else take care of it? I guess it's a good thing you had such a shit life until now, because as soon as things are looking up for you, personally, the rest of the world can fuck right off."

            Snow pulls back. He can't find the words so his mouth just hangs open.

            I'm not sorry I said it. It's true. He's being a coward. He's not himself. I don't know what in Chomsky's name he's going through right now, but he needs to get the hell over it. Before he ruins the rest of our time here together. I would tell him all this, but he's already left the room.

 

SIMON

            "Something's wrong with Baz." I've locked myself out on the balcony, though I don't think Baz will come looking for me anyway.

            "Like what? Is he sick?" Penny asks.

            "No, I mean... maybe. Maybe it's a... a vampire thing? He's sleeping all day, like in the movies, you know. And he can't sleep at night. He just sits up. If I ask him what he's doing he just tells me to go back to sleep. _And_ he's having nightmares again." I try not to sound overly-worried. I know I can overreact.

            "How long has this been going on?"

            I try to count. "Two weeks? Maybe more. It happened just like that."

            I snap my fingers even though she can't see or hear it.

            "What about work? Isn't he going?" Penny asks.

            "He does a little from here, but I'm afraid to ask. I know they've got more clients than ever, but the orders all go through a website now. Baz doesn't have to meet with people in person much at all," I answer.

            "Isn't that good though? You two can finally spend some time together," she says.

            "I don't know, Penny." I rub my forehead. "I can't tell if I'm crowding him or being too distant or... I mean, sometimes I can get him to get up and take a shower or go for a swim. He goes out at night to feed, and that's about the only time he leaves the house without me pushing him. And he's snapping at me. It's like he hates me again."

            "Well, it sounds like he's depressed." She sighs into the phone.

            I thought that, but... "Why, though? I mean... Do you think he wants me to leave? Or maybe he wants to go home? I must be costing him a lot and—"

            "Did you ever see him like this before? At Watford?" she asks.

            I think hard. Maybe? "I wasn't really—I mean, I didn't care if he was feeling poorly. Before. I wasn't paying attention."

            I chew my lip. She's quiet, and I can almost hear the gears in her head turning. I'm thinking maybe I should tell her I'm not going back to Watford, then decide against it. I can't have both of them mad at me at once.

            " _Oh_ , it's tomorrow," Penny gasps, cutting off my train of thought.

            "What's tomorrow?"

            "Simon... his mom died August 12th. It's..." she whispers the next part, she must not be alone, "the day he was Turned."

            I feel like an idiot. I'm his boyfriend, I should know things like that. Instead I thought he had some stupid vampire flu.

            "What do I do?" I ask. Can that really be it? Is that really the only reason he's a wreck? Baz, who doesn't let anything faze him? I try to imagine what it would be like if anything happened to the Mage, or Ebb... "Never mind, I've gotta go, Penny."

            I hang up on her and unlock the sliding glass door. I almost forget to shut it, I'm in such a rush.

            Baz is still in bed where I left him, just about to take a bite of the apple I brought him. I cross over to his side of the bed and slip my arms around his neck. I lay my head there, where his neck meets his back and just hold him.

            "What's wrong _now_ , Snow?" Baz says. His voice is impatient, but softer than before.

            I try to play his game. Not talking directly about anything. Not forcing him to open up. If I open up, he might meet me halfway. "I just need this, okay? It’s fine if you go back to Watford. I don't want to hold you back."

            Baz doesn't say anything, just raises a hand to hold onto my arm. I missed the cold sureness of his hand. He's barely touched me in a week, and I pulled back to mirror him. To give him some space. To try and stop _bothering_ him all the time. I always feel like I'm constantly asking for too much of everything. His time, his money, his attention.

 _Merlin_ , was I making it all about me.

            "I'm sorry I'm such a crap boyfriend," I say into his neck. Baz sighs, and I can feel the rise and fall of his back.

            "Simon... It's not..." I don't say anything. I just wait for him to speak. Or not speak. Whatever he wants.

            "Sit down," he whispers. I do. Right behind him, lacing my arms under his, one leg tucked under me, the other over the side of the bed. I pull him back into me, my arms crossing his chest, lay my warm face against the cool plane of his shoulder.

            "Let’s just… stay like this until you feel better, ok?”

            "I feel fine, Simon."

            "Okay," I say, and don't let go.

            "Really."

            I take a deep breath.

            "What if I have to go to the toilet?" he asks, deadpan.

            "Well, you should have thought of that."

            Baz makes a huffing noise that's not quite a laugh, but the closest I've heard to one in days.

            "What's your favorite thing to eat?" I ask.

            "I don't know. Duck maybe, or... pumpkin soup."

            I frown. "Can't make those. What's your favorite thing I can make?"

            "Well that severely limits the list, doesn't it? You can't make anything but eggs and cheese toasties," he sneers, trying to look over his shoulder at me. I lift my head and lean my chin into his back.

            "Whatever. I can make chili."

            "That wasn't chili. That was like, chicken and pepper soup," Baz corrects.

            "Yeah, but it was good, wasn't it?" Baz nods. I bite my cheek."Can you drive? I mean, are you up to it? We don't have anything I need, and to be honest, we're kind of running out of food altogether."

            "I'll call Blanca," he says.

            "Who's that?"

            "The housekeeper I didn't fire. Text me a list and I'll send it to her."

            "What if she's not free?" I ask.

            "Then I'll drive us."

            "I bet now you wish you'd taught me how to drive," I try to joke. I asked a dozen times when we first got here.

            Baz just says what he always says, "I'd rather be _run over_ by the Jaguar than let you drive the Jaguar. If anything happened to it, my father would do exactly that anyway."

            "Well, fuck him then. There's more important things than cars. Like only sons."

            "I'm not an only son," Baz says with a note of disbelief. "I have a little brother. How do you not know that?"

            "I only know Mordelia." I shrug. This is the most Baz has talked in days. I think it might be helping that he's not looking at me. Like, maybe it's too intense to talk directly _to_ people right now.

            "I have _four_ siblings, Snow. Three sisters and a brother. And lay off my father, that car's worth more than my life."

 _Not to me._ I press my lips into Baz's back. We're fighting, sort of, but he's not angry. "Why don't you talk to me about your family?"

            "Because you hate them."

            "I hated you, too," I remind him.

            He makes the noise that's not quite a laugh again. I lean back into his pillows and pull him back with me. Baz lays back on my chest and I run my hand through his hair. It doesn't smell like his posh soap anymore, just like him. (And faintly like the cigarettes he thinks I don’t know he smokes when he goes out to hunt at night.)

            "What do you want to know?" he asks.

            "Anything. Everything. Who you get on with, who you don't. What they call you."

            "Basil... mostly. Basilton if I'm in trouble."

            I laugh. I can't imagine Baz getting into trouble. What for? Keeping his room _too_ clean? Dressing _too_ nicely for dinner? I ask, "Does anyone call you Tyrannus?"

            He smiles faintly, looking up at me. "No, thank magic. That's my mother. She insisted..."

            I'm worried maybe we've strayed into bad territory, that maybe talking about her will only make things worse. I know I wouldn't want to talk about it, but... "Do you think... do you think she would have liked me? Or any of them, if I weren't—?"

            "The Mage's Heir?" he finishes for me. "I don't know. You know what my father thinks... He'd never approve of anyone I'd actually _want_ to bring home."

            He thinks for a while. "I think Daphne would like you. She's not... I mean, she's from money, but not like us. She's not..."

            "A stuck-up posh prick like you?" I offer, smiling down at him. Baz reaches one arm back and squeezes my side tickling me. I try to jerk away, but he's lying on top of me so there's nowhere to go.

            "Alright." He readjusts his head on my chest. I lace my hand back into his hair. (It's finally getting longer again.) "That is... maybe true. But Mordelia likes you. I had to bribe her not to bring you up anymore."

            "Really?"

            "Yes. _Three_ Twirls and a packet of Maltesers."

            "That's extortion!" I grin.

            "What can I say, she takes after me," he answers drily. Baz goes quiet again. I think we're done talking for a bit. He's just running his fingers along my arm. He's looking toward the window, but the blinds are still drawn. He could open them if he wanted, his wand is right here, but he tries not to use magic in front of me now. I open my mouth to ask if he wants me to do it when he says, "I don't know about my mother. I don't know if she would have liked you. I wish I did."

            "I'm sorry," I say. It's the only thing you can say in these situations. "I wish you did, too."

            Baz tilts his head back and I lean forward and kiss him softly. And twice more for good measure. His face is scratchy, he needs a shave.

            "I think I can drive us."

            "Okay. Let me know when you want me to let go so you can get dressed." I close my eyes.

            "Don't be stupid, Snow." Baz rubs his rough face into my shirt. His voice is quiet. "I'm never going to _want_ you to let me go."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song:  
> [ Waiting Room ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgJLXrOtASc%20)

SIMON  
            I don't know what I expected. Like talking once would make everything better.

            There are little improvements: Baz sleeps mostly _at_ night, if not quite _through_ the night. He's still not shaving, but at least he's showering every day, usually before noon. But he stopped taking calls from his family. And we did eventually have to ask Blanca to run some errands for us. I'm still cooking all the meals, which I don't mind. It's nice, for once, to take care of him. To help him in a way that doesn't involve fighting anything.

            At the end of the third week, I do what Penny's been suggesting for days. I sneak a look at Baz's phone when he's in the shower and get Dr Hightower's number.

            The balcony has now become my go-to place for calls regarding Baz's mental health. I liked it a lot better when it was just the place we looked at the stars. But Baz doesn't go out in the sun anymore so he never thinks to look for me here during the day. It’s the only place I know for sure I won’t be overheard.

            I only do it because I’m desperate. I don't know how long the two of us can hang on like this. (I don't know how long he can hang on at all.)

            When she answers, she knows it's me. It's a little creepy, and then I remember that she always _did_ creep me out a little. It’s her too wide eyes and too pleasant voice...

            "Simon, you are not a mental healthcare professional. I wouldn’t encourage you to take this on alone."

            "Yeah, but how do I get him to call you?" I ask. He hasn't kept her number all this time for no reason, but how do I even bring it up?

            She sighs. I imagine her twirling a long strand of her curly lavender hair. She tells me what to do and I thank her and hang up. I think she's barmy, but I have literally tried everything else. At least, everything Googling turned up: talking, exercise, steady routine… I’ve even tried to set goals, like maybe going to the seaside, and planning what we’re going to do for his birthday. He'll be back at school then...

            Back in our room, Baz is still in the shower. He _usually_ takes ages, but lately it's been unbelievable. I don't know how he doesn't run out of hot water, but he's probably using magic. (He uses magic a lot when I'm not in the room. I can still feel the wave of heat when he casts, wherever he is in the house.)

            I don't wait for him to get out, I just walk right into the bathroom and announce, "You're going to call Dr Hightower."

            "Aleister Crowley, Snow! Knock first! What is wrong with you? You scared the shit out of me."

            I repeat myself. "Call Dr Hightower."

            "Now? Or can I get dressed first?" he asks sarcastically from the behind the shower curtain.

            "Getting dressed is okay. But right after." I cross my arms and lean against the sink. Baz pulls back the curtain and gives me a dubious look. When he sees I'm not joking, I catch a hint of worry cross his face before he can clear it. He opens the curtain all the way and turns the water off. I hold out his towel and look away.

            “Are you averting your eyes, Snow?” he asks. “Are you a medieval knight? Should I cover my ankles?” Good, he’s teasing me _. Maybe he’s feeling better._

            I roll my eyes. “I’m going to go for a walk. A long walk, so don’t feel like you need to rush. Just,” I shrug, “have a nice long talk.”

            He gives me a look like I’m being patronizing, and I am. Doctor's orders.

* * *

            "I have news that will make you happy," Baz says over dinner. (Pizza. It’s hard to think of something new, that I can actually make, every day.) (But at least we’re eating at the table and not the bed.)

            "What’s that?” I say around a mouthful of food.

            "I'm officially fired.” He states it with fake disinterest.

            I try to swallow. "What? Why?”

            "You were right. We needed a British me. Someone with real experience in business to replace me so Ani and I can go back to school. A _CFO_." Baz’s is looking down at his plate, sucking on one of his fangs. "Mr Farber was right."

            "Who the hell is Mr Farber?" I scrunch my eyebrows together.

            Baz looks up and returns my confused look. "The... the loan officer. The man from the bank? The one you yelled at."

            "Oh. I forgot his name as soon as we sat down."

            He exhales a laugh. "Of course you did."

            "Hey.” I kick him lightly under the table. “This means you did good. The business is too big for an eighteen and fifteen year old to handle anymore. That's _good_."

            "It doesn't feel good." Baz pushes his plate away. He always does that when he's done eating.

            "What about all the people you're helping? I mean, two hundred people in the U.K. alone. Aren't you proud of that?"

 

BAZ

            Even when he says it like that, _"two hundred people,"_ it doesn't feel like enough. How many magicians are there in the U.K.? And how many of them are we supposed to save from the Humdrum? _Two hundred people…_

            "Baz... I've been thinking." Snow hesitates. "You're... sick, right? I mean, it's in your head, but you're still sick. Maybe you could... I could give you some of my magic and you could..." He doesn't want to say the spell.

            "Does **_Get well soon_** work on depression?" I ask humourlessly, leaning back in my chair. Snow freezes. It’s the first time either of us has used the word.

            He chews his lip, trying to find his words. "I don't know, but we could try. I wish we'd tried sooner but I didn't think of it."

            “You don’t use magic,” I answer, my voice flat. I’m not going to make him use it, no matter what he says.

            “I think life or death situations should be an exception,” he says carefully.

_Is this a life or death situation?_

            I don’t think I _want_ to die. I’m already half-dead, technically. And lately it just… feels easier to give in to that part. To be a little less alive, because then maybe I won’t have to care so bloody much all the bloody time.

            “We better not try it. If it doesn’t work, I don’t know if I can handle the crash after the high.” I stretch my neck and close my eyes for a moment. Snow didn’t let me sleep this afternoon and I’m so tired.

            “It feels that good?” Snow asks, incredulous.

            I cross my arms and flick my eyebrows up. “People would kill you for it. Yes, it's good.”

            “So you don’t want to try it?” he asks.

            “I’m saying we shouldn’t.” I look down at my crossed arms. Snow is quiet. He’s not eating. After a moment, I look at him again. He’s is staring at me. Determined. Worried. I can’t tell if he’s sad or…

            “You should go,” I say it so suddenly even I don't expect it. “Why don’t you go?”

            I expect him to say he has nowhere _to_ go. Or that he needs to stay, like I’m just another one of the people he’s trying to save. One of all the thousands he's trying to save... But he doesn’t say anything. I look down at my wrist in my lap. Has my skin always looked so pale? So thin...

            “You can’t stay," I go on. "You’re too suggestible. I’ll drag you down with me.”

            “Do you want me to go?” he asks, lowering his voice.

            “You should go.”

            “Do you want me to?”

            I don’t answer. My vision is getting bleary so I just shut my eyes. I hear Simon’s chair scrape on the floor and I listen as he comes around the table. When I open my eyes again, he’s kneeling beside me. Looking up with big blue eyes like he’s trying to see right through me.

            “I’m right here,” he says.

            I shake my head. “I know—”

            “No.” Snow grabs my hand just as I'm bringing it up to my forehead to cover my eyes. “I’m here. For good, okay? You said you’d always come back for me, well I’m not going anywhere either.”

            He’s got that insistent, brave, heroic, _moronic_ look on his face. Like he’s been told he has to save Metropolis.

            “Don’t look at me like that.”

            “Like what?” he whispers.

            “Like… like you love me.”

            He laughs. “But I do.”

            “Yeah but…” I close my eyes again, his face is too much in general right now. “Don’t.”

            Snow stands and wraps his arms around me. My face is buried in his warm chest. Crowley, he smells so good.

            “Do you think you can fucking stop me? I’m going to. Even if you never shave again and never stop wearing pyjamas and live in that stupid, crumby bed. I’m going to love you.” He says all of this directly into my ear. He’s got me so tight I can’t fall apart.

            “Okay.” My answer is muffled in his shirt. But then I think about everything he’s said… I choke out, “ _I’m so fucked up._ ”

            Simon sits in my lap and takes my face in his hands. “I know. It’s fantastic. Here I thought you were too good for me. Turns out were both shit.”

            I laugh, even though I feel more like crying. Simon puts one arm around my shoulder and puts the other on the back of my head, pulling me into him. I push my hands up the back of his shirt and feel his warm muscles tightening under his skin. He swims every day now. I can no longer count his ribs, his vertebrae...

            It’s a long time before either of us speaks again. I _don’t_ cry; I don’t think I have enough in me to.

            “I think...” I try, “what's wrong with me... I don't think it’s something you can just talk me out of.”

            I hear Simon sigh.

            "But...” I add, “please keep trying."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the song playing in the chapter:  
> [ You'll Never Walk Alone ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OV5_LQArLa0)

SIMON

            On the Tuesday before it’s time to go back to Watford, Baz wakes me up before eight o’clock, rubbing my back and calling me Snow.

            “Did you sleep?” I ask drowsily.

            “Yes, of course.” He brushes my question off. “Now get dressed, we’re on a schedule.”

            I don’t question him. He’s awake and dressed and he’s even _shaved_. We make breakfast together, and then as soon as I’m done eating, he’s pushing me towards the car. I ask him where we're going.

            “To the seaside,” he answers, slightly annoyed, and I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. He did throw our trunks and some towels into the boot. It’s raining out, but then, Baz prefers the rain. I get in the car.

***

            “This is not the beach.” I point out. We’ve been driving for ages already.

           We’re parked in front of a glass storefront with dapper-looking mannequins in the window and the word “Tailor” etched in the door and gilded.

            “No,” Baz says mischievously, “it’s not. I’m getting you a suit.”

            “No. _Why?_ ” (I might whinge a little.)

            “Because you need one.”

            “No, I don’t. What am I going to wear it to?” I ask.

            “You don’t need an occasion,” Baz answers coolly, “you just need a suit.”

            “But what if I grow out of it? Won’t this be pointless?”

            “Snow, you’ve never been so built in your life, your shoulders can’t get any wider or you’ll fall over, and if you think I’m going to allow you to get any taller…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, just leans over the shifter. I think he's going to kiss me, but he just opens my door.

***

            I have to admit, I look nice. Not as good as Baz does in a suit—not like I was born for them—but nice enough to stand beside him. I'm staring in the mirror, half in disbelief and half just to buy myself some time to think of a way to talk Baz out of this. The suit I have on now costs more than everything I've ever owned thrown together (leprechaun gold included). (I mean, how many yards would I have to mow to buy even a pocket square from here?)

            But just then, Baz stands right in front of me, blocking my view. I meet his eyes just as he brushes my curls to the side and... _he's smiling_. He seems so different today. I don’t want to wreck it.

 _Sometimes, letting someone do something nice for you can be a gift to them._ Agatha told me that.

            I let him buy me the suit.

            We _do_ go to the seaside. Way in the south somewhere. Baz says he used to come here when he was little, before he was Turned. It's overcast and dreary, so there's almost no one around. Just an old man walking his dog, and a couple kids younger than us kicking at the rocks. Maybe everyone else is already back in school.

            Baz is wearing one of his shirts he sometimes wears under his football kit. It’s skin tight and black. (He looks so good in black.) I think it’s to keep the sun off him.

            "Well? What do you think?" He gestures at the sea.

            "It’s great." I don’t know what else to say. It doesn’t look like much. The water is choppy and grey, and it's impossible to tell where the sky ends and it begins.

            "It's raining out on the horizon. That's the blur you see there." He grabs my shoulder and points out over the water. It's like he's read my mind. "It's rough today, but don't worry, you've got me."

            He gives me a cheeky look and starts walking backward toward the shore.

 

BAZ

            I know he can't resist a challenge. Snow races me into the waves. They're coming harder than I expected, but Snow's a strong swimmer. I'm not worried about him.

            "You just have to get past the break, then it will be calm." I shout back to him over the white noise of the crashing waves. Snow looks uncertain. With every new surge that smacks into him, his frown deepens. The water's only up to our waists; I egg him on.

            When the water's up to our chests, Snow dives through a wave and catches up to me.

            "Not bad, Chosen One," I jeer. He reaches out to push me but I dodge his arm and grab it. I pull him close to me and taste the salt on his lips. Snow wraps himself around me. I don't think he realizes it's shallow enough to stand between the cresting peaks. _I'm_ not going to tell him.

            "This is the first time I've ever thought your hair looked sexy slicked back like that," Snow says with a roguish half-smile.

            "I wear it like this all the time."

            He laughs."I know. I hate it."

            I lift my chin. "Why didn't you say anything?"

            "I did. I said, 'Oi, Pitch! You look like a prat!'" Snow laughs again as I push him away.

            A second later he grabs me and is lifting me from my waist. I hadn't realized how strong he'd gotten. I grab his shoulders more out of surprise than anything.

            "Look who's holding onto who for dear life."

            I roll my eyes, but I don't let go. "So what do you think? Still terrifying?"

            Snow looks at the grey swells around us. "A bit, yeah. But thank you."

            So he gets it, then. He understands I meant today as a gift. That I wanted us to have something to look back on. Before I go back. Before this is all over.

            I think could die right here. It's not as bloody or as violent an end as I might have pictured for myself, but if it ended here, in the waves with Simon, that would be alright. It would be enough.

***

            "You seem better today."  Snow leans back into the black cushioned booth. This is the first he's looked comfortable all day. "Did it work then? Dr Hightower's advice?"

            We stopped in to eat at a diner, the kind with so much bric-a-brac on the walls that you can't tell what colour the paint is underneath. Band posters and records and old photos... This is more Snow's speed. He's stuffed himself on a greasy hamburger and fries. I've been drinking coffee black. It's disgusting, but I'm exhausted from the long day. Even when it's overcast, the sun can take it out of me, and I've got to drive us back yet.

            "What advice?" I ask over my mug of steaming bitter swill.

            "She told me to boss you around. Not to take no for an answer. To make you call her, make you get up every day, get dressed, _eat more than one meal_..." he says pointedly, raising his eyebrows at my coffee cup.

            "I'm fine." I shake my head. He's still looking at me, twisting his mouth. I concede. "I feel better today."

            There's a juke box in the corner and Snow keeps looking over my shoulder at it. He stands suddenly and goes to it. My eyes follow him, then I turn and throw an arm over the back of the seat. He flips through the records a few moments and suddenly his face lights up.

            He doesn't look up, just holds out his hand. "Baz, I need two quid."

            I sigh, stand, and hand the coins over. "What is it?"

            "You'll see," he says. "But you have to promise to dance with me."

            " _What?_ " Snow is a terrible dancer. I've watched him enough over the years to know.

            "Come on, don't you want to?" He's _trying_ to be nice. He knows I like to dance. I look around.

            "People will see.” I squint my eyes in the dim amber light. “They'll call us fags and kick the shit out of us."

            He grabs my hand, the most mischievous look on his face. "I'd like to see them try to kick _your_ arse."

            I let him pull me closer just as the last song ends and his song starts.

_"When you walk... through the storm..."_

            I let out a groan. _It's Gerry and the Pacemakers_. The bleeding Liverpool Football Club anthem. I try to move away but Snow's arm pulls tighter around my neck.

            "No you don't!" he laughs.

            I look down at him. His bright smile is making his eyes crinkle. I remind myself today is his, and put my hands reluctantly on his waist.

_"...and don't be afraid of the dark..."_

            This song is old, and slow, so we don't have to dance really, just sway in place.

_" At the end of the storm, there's a golden sky..."_

            I get why he likes it, I'm not completely heartless. Snow's entire life has been pretty hopeless. He was ratty-looking and rough the first time I saw him. We've never talked about care, but I know enough to guess what it's like. I remember that first day perfectly, and seeing the Humdrum brought it all back.

            How miserably, wretchedly lonely he was.

_"For your dreams be tossed and blown..."_

            And then he got stuck with me. I lean my head into his curls. The water's softened his hair and given it a briny smell.

_"Walk on..."_

            This is a song for someone who will never give up, who _can't_ give up. Who needs to believe there's some kind of future when all evidence points to the contrary. Because otherwise, all that shit he's been through has been for no reason. I get it.

_"Walk on...with hope in your heart... and you'll never walk alone."_

            Snow turns his face into my neck and I can feel his hot breath. I don't know if people are staring, but it doesn't matter. Snow is right, they can't touch us.

            I'm glad I didn't die. Back at the beach. I'm glad I didn't miss _this_.

_"Walk on, walk on..."_

            And I don't feel better, not yet. But I think I _could_. It doesn't seem impossible anymore, and _that_ is an improvement. As pathetic as that is. I wrap my arms tighter around Simon.

_"with hope in your heart..."_

            Snow pulls away as the song ends and I see his eyes are red. He balls up a fist and brings it up to his face to rub his eye, nearly knocking me in the chin in the process. I smile a little and bring my own hand up to rest on his cheek.

            "Let's go home."

            I drop a fifty pound note on the table and follow him to the door.

            Back in the car, he asks, "Did you ever see the 2005 Champions League final?"

            I have. I watched it as it happened, but I say no. I barely remember it, and I want to hear him tell it.

            "Liverpool was down three nil,” he starts. “It was brutal. I was exhausted just from watching. And then at the half, the fans just started singing... thousands of them. Thousands of miles from home. They were so loud, I didn't even know _what_ they were singing back then, but the team could hear it from the locker room. It was all they could hear. And then they came back on the field and—"

            "And they won?" I ask, though I already know.

            He leans his cheek into the leather seat and answers sleepily. "Yeah. In penalty kicks. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen, and I didn't even watch it live."

            I chuckle. "You didn't?"

            "No. I watched it six months later. I had no idea they were going to win, though." He yawns.

            "Your beloved Liverpool?" I sneer. "You thought they'd lose?"

            I sneak a glance and his eyes are closed. "Wasn't a fan yet."

            "That did it? Just one game?"

            “You should've seen it…” Snow trails off. I let him rest. That's just like him, loyal to the end. I shouldn't have expected anything else.

 

SIMON

            Baz must have carried me from the car, because I wake already lying down. I heard music I thought, singing...

            "I thought you didn't like that song," I say.

            He stops and shifts beside me. I try to open my eyes and look up into his.

            "You're dreaming," he says, pushing my hair back.

            "I'm not. You’re never in my dreams." I blink slowly, fighting my exhaustion. "And if you were, you wouldn't sing."

            "Go back to sleep," he whispers.

            We're lying in his bed, _our_ bed, facing each other. Like a pair of parenthesis. Me the open, him the close. I want to stay awake, I want this to go on forever, but that's just it isn't it? It can't, and here I am always trying to make everything last forever. And there he is, always obsessed about the end. And together we make a set. A pair. We complete each other.

 

BAZ

            "We're parenthesis," Snow mumbles.

            "What?" My voice is a low hush.

            "Parenthesis. Us." I don't know what he means, so I just stroke his hair until he falls back to sleep. I'll ask him about it in the morning.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Can't stop listening to this song!)  
> [ Go Home - Julien Baker ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4Ab2DcvC1ns)

BAZ

_Basil, you can't keep ignoring my calls._

            Ignore.

_Basil, your mother and I are worried about you._

            Ignore.

_If you continue on like this, I'll have your phone shut off._

            Ignore.

_Basilton, I know what you're doing up there and I won't let you carry on like this under my roof._

            Ig—

            My thumb is hovering over the message to swipe it away, but then I read it again. _What does he know?_ I'm still staring at the screen wondering when his phone call comes through. I've long since silenced his ringer, and Daphne's, and the house phone (and his office line for good measure).

            "Hello," I answer. Simon's head jerks up at the sound of my voice. He closes the book of poetry he’s borrowed from the study and watches me.

            "I see that got your attention." My father's voice is cool, unshaken.

            "I have no idea what it's supposed to mean. Father, I've just been busy with work—"

            "I know from Percy Mason at the club that the company replaced you with his son."

_Replaced._

            "I still—." I take a breath. "Yes, we hired him. He didn't _replace_ anyone. It's a new position."

            "You know that's not why I called. It's time for you to come home." There's no ambiguity. This is not a request. "I've allowed you use of the lodge and the Jaguar because I thought you could handle the responsibility. Now that I see that you lack any discretion or good sense, you've lost those privileges."

            I resist the urge to ask, " _What the hell are you talking about?"_

            "I don't understand," I say instead.

            "The suit," is all he says.

            My hesitation confirms everything he already knows. _But how does he know?_

            "I appreciate that you are not attempting to deny it."

            I stand and walk briskly to the study. I close the door too quickly and it shuts with a bang. I lock it.

            "How?" I ask.

            "Your mother was going through your recent purchases for any business expenses, to write off on your taxes—"

            "I already keep track of that—" I blurt. I don’t talk back to my father like this.

            "—when she noticed the purchase. Exorbitant, especially considering your recently diminished standing at the company."

            I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I feel... I feel...

_Humiliated._

            I _know_ exactly what he’s doing, I’ve heard him do it before. But not to me.

            "So naturally, she called Hudson to confirm the purchase, who then informed her it was a gift. _Too expensive_ a gift, Basil."

            "It's my money," I answer through gritted teeth, but he goes on.

            "Hudson was my father's tailor. I took you there for your first suit. And you would embarrass me in this way in front of him?" His voice is low, calm. Dangerous. His words prick. I can't pretend I'm beyond caring. What can I say? I can’t defend myself. There's nothing I can do to protect Simon now.

            Then my father says, "I don’t care whatever else you've done. It's over now. You'll be home in two hours, or I will come there for you myself."

            And there's only one correct answer to this: "Yes, sir."

 

SIMON

            Baz never does this. He doesn't mind me hearing calls to his dad. I wonder if they're fighting, but I don't hear any yelling. I don’t have to wonder long because t's only a few moments before Baz comes back through the door of the study.

            There's no emotion on his face, he's just staring me down blankly.

            "I’m going home," he says calmly.

            "Everything alright?" I ask.

            "Fine. Just some things I need to take care of before we go back. Listen," he's twisting his keys and pulling off the ring, "could you maybe go around to Bunce's until the start of term?"

            He's trying to hand me the key to the lodge, so can lock up when I go. He’s done this before, when he was still working. I don't take it. I feel a knot deep in my gut take shape.

            "Baz, I haven’t changed my mind. I’m not going back."

            He narrows his eyes, but says nothing. I follow him up to our room. _His_ room. Baz packs his things with a quick **_Everything in its right place._** There's not even time to argue.

            "You can't—I mean, what happened?” I’m stumbling to find words. “If you go back to Watford I won't be able to call you. No mobiles."

            "Well, I'm going back, so you'll have to figure something out."

 _You'll have to_ , not _we'll_.

            He's pushing past me to the stairs again, already pressing the button to unlock the Jag.

            "Can't you—can't you even drop me at the station?" I sputter.

            In answer, Baz reaches into his pocket and pulls out his billfold. "Here. Call a cab. I don't have the time."

 

BAZ

            Two hours. He only gave me two hours. The drive itself is longer than two hours, unless I cast a spell.

            Snow looks terrified. I can't look directly at him or I'll—

            I head out the door and make for the car but he grabs my arm. I turn on him, pulling out of his grasp and he stumbles a little on the gravel. "Don't shut me out. What the fuck is happening? Don't go without saying—."

            I throw down my bag and grab him hard, both hands clinging to either side of his head. I kiss him, but it's rough. He's not expecting it.

_It'll have to do._

            "Wait! Baz!" He's still yelling as I throw my things in the car, as I back the car around and turn down the drive. I wait until I'm halfway to the motorway to break down.

 

SIMON

            I sit in the drive at least half an hour. I'm sure any moment he'll come back. Or call. Something. When I finally get up, I look at the money still tight in my hand. It's over two hundred pounds, and he just handed it away like it's nothing.

            When the cabbie pulls up later, I take one last look at the lodge, at the woods. And I notice for the first time—I don't know how I could have missed it—that the leaves are already changing colours.

* * *

            The gates still feel cold from the night when I put my hand to them. They open, as always. Penny's mum drove us back, but it's her brother who's waiting to let us onto the grounds. He hassles me about whether I'm actually _me_ , and my stomach jerks uneasily at the thought of how many people know now that the Humdrum looks like me.

            (No, _is_ me.)

            Penny doesn't come with me to Mummers House. She knows we fought. (Or didn’t even fight, he just took off.) She knows he hasn't responded to my texts or calls in two days. She knows I want to see him alone.

            But when I get to the room, I _am_ alone. Completely alone. Baz isn't back yet.

            There’s a box on my bed. It's from his tailor: the suit. I’d completely forgotten about it. I hang it up with my new uniform, but I don't unpack anything else.

            I still... I still don't want to admit that I'm staying. Maybe when Baz gets here I'll just storm off again and then he can know how it feels.

            I kick my duffle bag under my bed, next to the bag of leprechaun’s gold, and sit down. I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and look out the window. The view looks completely different somehow. This doesn't feel like my room at all. It feels like a replica, or something, like a movie set. None of it seems _real_. It's all just slightly off. I reach out a hand and push my chair into my desk. Of course, it's not changed at all. It's just me. It's me that's the fake.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello and sorry updating has been so slow. I'm guessing a more realistic timeline would be wrapping up around June. work and school take up most of my time nowadays!
> 
> Thank you for sticking around! your comments give me the energy to keep writing :)

PENELOPE

           “Is Baz back yet?” I ask over dinner.

          “Penny! People can hear you!” Simon scolds, his mouth full of steak and kidney pudding.

          “Just a bunch of first years who don’t know a Pitch from a Petty!” But I lower my voice anyway. "Are you two still fighting?"

          He just shrugs. His shrugs are a lot more impressive now that they've got some muscle behind them. He's not skin and bones anymore.

          "Are _we_ fighting?" I ask. I didn't want to bring it up at my house, where anyone could have overheard. Simon just gives me a puzzled look. "I mean, I'd understand if you were cross with me, for not telling you what I knew about the Humdrum—."

          "I'm not angry, Penny." He goes back to stuffing his face.

          "Yeah, but... why?"

          "I try not to _get_ angry anymore. I don't want to risk bringing my magic back up."

          I frown at him. "But _how_ do you keep from getting angry?"

          He sighs and addresses his fork. "I just... stop. Go somewhere else in my head. Then when I feel ready, I talk to myself about whatever’s upsetting me.

          "Like, when you lied to me. When Baz told me you lied, I thought about what you'd probably say. That you wanted to protect me, that you didn't know for sure... I just tried to see it from your side. Let you argue your side of things in my head."

          "And did I win?" I ask.

          He shakes his head. "Our friendship won. When I thought about it, I knew you wouldn't do anything to hurt me, and even if,” his voice rises, “ _you should have told me_ , I care more about being your friend than about being angry."

          I go back to eating my own dinner. "So we're good then?"

          "We're good, Pen." He gives me a tight smile, distracted. I know he's worried about Baz, but honestly, this is just like him. Disappear dramatically so Simon will worry and forget all about their fight. I kick Simon's foot under the table.

          "I bet he'll be back tomorrow. He never misses the picnic."

          He doesn't answer, just gives a sideways glance to Baz's empty table, and there's no one here who'd care to notice.

 

SIMON

          I usually sleep like the dead, but not tonight. Every sound snaps me awake. So when the Visitor comes, I'm already sitting up, staring at Baz's bed. Penny told me what they are this afternoon, so I manage not to draw my sword this time, but the Visitors still creep me right the fuck out, and now, on top of everything else keeping me awake, there's one in my room. She looks familiar, but as soon as I realize what she is, that she's not _alive_ , I look away. I try, but there's no way I'm falling asleep now with ghosts creaking about as they please. When I finally look back toward the window, she's gone.

          By morning, my magic is fizzling in my fingertips. I keep trying to shake it off, to calm down, but nothing's working. I knew it. I knew being around all this magic again would set me off, but he wouldn't listen.

 _Baz isn't here_ , _and I shouldn't be._

          Things around the room—books, lamps, pillows—keep rising up on their own, like zeppelins cut from their moorings. My elbow knocks into Baz's chair on my way to the door and it goes spinning away. When I shut the door behind me, I hear everything fall to the floor.

          Out on the lawn, I run into Ebb and the goats. I feel guilty about not saying hello for a second, but then the goats sense my magic and all bolt at once. Ebb has to turn away to manage them. I start to run.

          My whole body is shaking now. I turn down the road, thinking that's safer than lighting up the Wavering Woods (again), but there's a car coming. Some student returning to school. And then I see one of the Mage’s Men waiting to check them in.

_The woods it is._

          I don't even make it past the tree line when I go.

          The golden fire starts in my hands, and there's a woosh like I'm drawing air toward me. The trees creek with the force of it. I don't _want_ to call the wind, it's too much. I don't know if even the Mage can bend the wind to his will.

          My heart is racing now, and the parts of me that are not on fire are soaked in sweat. I'm rooted to the spot.

          I growl in frustration. _This is it, I'm leaving, as soon as this is over. This is exactly_ —

          The rest of me lights up before I can finish the thought. The ground cover catches fire.

_The dryads are going to kill me._

          Someone puts the fire around me out and I turn to see Ebb has followed me.

_No._

          "Ebb, stay back," I warn, but she raises her staff and casts again. I can't hear her spell over the wind and flames, but a split second later I'm trapped in a bubble. There's a popping sound as my fire sucks all the air out of the protection sphere and then burns itself out. I realize I can't breathe.

          With a jab of her staff, Ebb pops the bubble and I fall forward onto the still-smoking leaves, gasping.

          "Alright, Simon?" Ebb asks, tremulously. I nod. I still don’t have my breath back to speak. She pats my back. "Had a fight with that roommate of yours?"

***

          I thought for sure the Mage had called me to his office to lay into me for disappearing this summer. I go up to see him as soon as I get the bird, put my head down, waiting for the blow to fall. But he doesn’t even mention it. He just stands beside his desk looking serious.

           “The Coven,” he begins, “and myself, believe it is in your best interest to leave Watford now. We’ve found a suitable place, where we stand a chance of keeping the Humdrum from finding you so easily again.”

            He wants me to hide? I don’t know what to say. I thought this is what I wanted, to stay away from Watford. But now that I’m here, now that I might not see Baz again if I don’t stay…

          I hear Baz’s arguments coming from my mouth. “I can fight the Humdrum from here.”

          “I don’t intend you to fight the Humdrum. This is a precaution, to keep you _safe—_ ”

 _“_ How can _anyone_ be safe if you won’t let me fight?”

          “It’s not just you we’re concerned about. There is the well-being of the other students to think of.” The Mage tilts his head, measuring me up. He knew I’d argue. (I don’t want to. I _want_ to give in.)

          “Can I have some time to decide?” If I can just wait until Baz gets back, so I know he’s okay.

          “What is there to decide? There’s nothing more you can learn here.” He’s steeling his jaw, clearly annoyed that I’m not giving in. The Mage hates being questioned, so I never do. But I can’t help it this time.

          “You gave me Watford, please don’t take it away just like that. I’m not a child, I can decide for myself where to be.”

          “I am the headmaster.” He scowls. “I decide who belongs at Watford.”

          I try to keep hold of my temper. I don’t want to stage a reenactment of this morning. “ _Watford_ decides who belongs at Watford. I’m not a child! You can't just order me where to go.” I’m repeating myself. I’m losing.

          “You think an adult would disappear for an entire summer and not tell their guardian where they went?” There it is.

          “An adult wouldn’t have a guardian,” I answer quickly, not sure if that helps his side or mine. “Is that what this is? My punishment for running away?”

          The Mage slams his palm on the desk. “Simon, we are at war! If you are an adult, then it’s time to start acting like one. You want to stay here with your friends and put your head in the sand? Pretend that everything is fine?”

          “I know—” My voice comes out a shout. I take a breath. “Do you think during World War II, everyone just cowered off somewhere safe? No one had birthday cakes or kissed or played cards? No one got married or had children? No one… _lived their lives_? Why do you think they made all those bloody posters? ‘Keep Calm and Carry On’ for what? There has to be a reason to do what we have to do. A reason to keep on going.”

          I know what he wants, what he’s honed me for all these years. Even if I hoped that wasn’t all I was. I give him what he wants. “Let me stay and I’ll do what you want. Be your weapon. Force me to leave, and I’ll never use my magic again.”

          The Mage’s eyes are slits. “I’ll give you some time to decide, but I thought you realized. There is only one reason we fight: for the greater good. _For the World of Mages_. Not for ourselves.” He turns away; he’s disappointed in me. “Birthday cakes and cards and kissing.” He shakes his head dismissively. “Do you think I waste time on such trifles? Those aren’t luxuries I can afford. _We_ can’t afford.”

          I’ve always envied the Mage, always wanted to be like him. (I didn’t want to _be_ Mage, I mean, just be like _him_.) I wanted to have that control, even if it was just over my own magic and life. Everyone depends on him, like I used to think they depended on me. And so many people hate him, but he always knows what he’s doing, he’s always _in control_. Even when he’s speechless with anger.

          But I look at him now and I just feel… pity. Everything he has is at the cost of something else. He’s right, he has no one. I can’t even imagine the Mage having a friend to celebrate his birthday with. Having a friend _period_. And then it clicks. _That’s_ the reason. Why he never treated me like anything other than “The Chosen One.” Why he sent me back to care every summer when I could have stayed here. Why he kept me in a room with a roommate I hated. Maybe even why he wants me to leave Watford now.

          He _wants_ me alone. The Mage wants me to be on my own, just like him. He wants the war to be my world, like it’s his. And for so long I believed him. That either I’d end it, or it would end me. But he’s wrong. There is more to the World of Mages than the war. There’s more to _life_ than war. And I intend to live to see it.

          I should be angry, but I just feel sorry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i can't believe i left you on that cliffhanger since october. i'm so sorry.
> 
>  
> 
> [Traveling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=199XS8ucYiM)

FIONA

            This is all Malcolm's fault. Why'd Natasha have to marry a sodding homophobe? Now Baz has run off and left school, and probably with one of those Normals he kept snogging in bars last winter. How am I supposed to find him now?

            I ask around at every bar, but no one's who's seen him has seen him since Christmas. Bribery and brute force turn up nothing. It's only been a few days. There's a chance he'll still turn up at school. I try his mobile again.

PENELOPE

            Baz hasn’t come back yet, but Agatha shows up just before the welcome-back picnic, surprising everyone. I ask her what happened to volunteering, but she just says, “I can do that after Watford.”

            I can’t understand why she had to call everyone and tell them she wasn’t going back if she was just going to stay in the end. Maybe Simon talked her out of it on one of their shopping trips (I’m still trying to wrap my head around _that_ ).

            Simon makes us stay out on the lawn until there’s only seventh and eighth years still up. Agatha gives up and turns in. I don’t mind. Trixie and Keris headed back to the room half an hour ago, so I’m fine right here. A Visitor appears, and the girl it’s here for shrieks when she realizes who it is. Simon sits bolt upright, hand on his hip.

            I put a hand on his arm and he leans slowly back again.

            After a pause, he says, “There was one in my room last night.”

            “One what? _A Visitor_?” He nods. “Who was it? Did you know them?”

            “No, just some woman. She didn’t hang around long.”

            “They don’t, do they? They just slip in and out.” I shift about, trying to get comfortable on the blanket. “Did she say anything?”

            “No,” Simon answers. “Maybe she realized she had the wrong place.”

            “Well, if she comes back, you should ask her.” An idea comes to me. “Hey, I should sleep in your room, since Baz isn’t here, yet. That way, if she comes again—.”

            “No.” It’s final. I look over and Simon is frowning up at the stars.

            “He’ll come back,” I say. “He won’t miss classes.”

             Simon just keeps staring silently up. He won’t tell me what their fight was about, but I can imagine. They’re both so stubborn, but I can’t believe Baz would actually miss school just to avoid Simon. Maybe he’s trying to teach him a lesson. Or maybe…

            Maybe he’s actually in trouble, like I know Simon thinks. He was depressed before they fought. What if the fight pushed him over the edge? I don’t know though, if Baz had done something to hurt himself, surely we’d all know about it. Unless…

            I shiver. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t believe it, but I actually care that Baz is okay.

            “If he’s not back by tomorrow, I’ll talk to Niall.”

            “What?” Simon asks. “Why?”

            “Because he’s the only friend he’s got and it will look less weird if I ask than if you do.” I shrug and my shoulder bumps Simon’s.

            He thinks about that. “I mean, it’s pretty weird that you would ask about anybody, though, Pen.”

            He’s right. “Do you think you should do it then?”

            “I dunno.” He sighs. “Let’s just think of a plan in the morning if he’s not back.”

***

            It’s clear by Simon’s face at breakfast that Baz is not back. Nor at lunch, nor by tea time. After tea, I follow Niall out on to the lawn.

            “Niall! When’s your friend getting back? I let him borrow a book and now I need it for class! What’s he up to?”

            Niall rolls his muddy blue eyes. “How the hell should I know? No one tells me anything.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?” I put my hands on my hips.

            “Dev plots without me, Baz plots with you lot without me, ignores me all summer. I’m done caring. I'll stay out of his business if he stays out of mine." Niall strides off in a huff.

            For heaven's snakes, that's a dead end if I ever saw one. Baz has a cousin, Marcus. Maybe we could talk to him. Or maybe the Mage knows something. (Though I don't know if it's a good idea to go asking the Mage questions about Basilton Grimm-Pitch.)

            It's only been five days. It's probably too early to freak out.

 

SIMON

            It's been eleven days since I last heard from Baz. I'm going mental, and the lack of sleep isn't helping. If it's not my magic buzzing me awake like an old-timey alarm clock, it's the Visitor lady appearing and disappearing as she pleases. The third time she came I shouted at her, asked what she wanted, but she just dissolved like she was a reflection in a lake and I’d thrown a stone in.

            I gave in yesterday and used the school phone to call Baz's house. I got his dad, though. (I tried three times.)

            I’ve gotta get out of here. I've had to use magic a few times in class (Miss Bellamy wasn’t about to let me mumble through Elocution this year), and I've gone off once more. I was sleeping and woke up soaked in sweat. When I caught fire again, there wasn’t time enough to get out. I had to hunker in the shower until the flames went out. The heat melted the shower curtain. Penny couldn't mend it, I had to ask for a new one.

            If Baz doesn't come back soon, I'm going to have to leave without him. I don't know if I'll take the Mage up on his offer, or go out on my own. Maybe I can go to Pitch Manor and talk to Baz face to face. I'm starting to worry that this isn't his choice. I can't believe, after everything, that he'd really disappear without saying goodbye. Maybe his family won't _let_ him come back. He left in such a hurry, what if something was wrong?

            For what must be the thousandth time I find myself wishing he'd let me in. Whatever is going on, whatever trouble he's in, I can help. Or I can at least try.

            He's not the only boy who didn't come back. A couple eighth years and a seventh year have gone, too. All from the Old Families. Maybe it's gotten real. Maybe Baz has been called to fight in the war.

            I prefer to think that than the other possibility. The fear that creeps in when I'm stuck in our room at night with his empty white sheets and a grey figure lurking just beyond the Veil. The possibility that maybe the only way I'll see Baz again is as a Visitor. What if it got to be too much? That day at the beach did feel like a gift. Like a goodbye present. Maybe he’d been planning it. Maybe whatever his dad said on the phone was all he could take…

            I take comfort in the fact that no one's come to collect his things. His bloody wardrobe is still locked tight. His pens are neatly arranged in his drawers. I hung his new uniform up in my closet; I couldn’t stand to see it laying out like that all the time. Like he'd been here and just vanished, leaving only his clothes. (And besides, it was starting to get dusty.)

            Tuesday, I try asking Miss Possibelf if she can tell me where he is, but the best she can do is tell me she spoke with his dad and he knew he wasn't at school. That sounds like maybe he _did_ join the war.

            But she also said he sounded upset, which sounds like maybe the other thing.

            I take a walk after classes, half to take my mind off of that possibility and half to look around. For Baz? A clue? I don’t know.

            I run into Ebb just leaving the barn. I've not seen Ebb much since I got a boyfriend, and I feel quite bad about it now. I call out to her and she waves back.

            Hiya, Simon! Come for tea, have you?”

            I nod and smile, and feel another pang of guilt since I’m lying.

            It’s no use though, Ebb can see something is wrong and I barely get in the door before she’s asking me about it. For someone who rarely spends time with other people, she’s alarmingly perceptive when something’s wrong.

            “My roommate didn’t come back,” I tell her.

            “What happened to him?” Her mouth curls into a frown. “The boys in your year are dropping like flibbertigibbets!”

            “I don’t know what happened to him,” I answer and sit on one of the stools near the stove.

            “And that’s why you’re worried?” Ebb asks.

            I shrug.

            “I’m not surprised to hear it. All that scrapping you boys did had to come from somewhere.”

            “What is that supposed to mean?” I squint at her.

            “Well,” she gives her shoulders a heave. “Strong feelings are strong feelings, they all come from the same place. It means you care about him, whether you like it or not.”

            I gape at her in disbelief. “Ebb, how did you—?”

            She waves one of her fingerless-glove-clad hands at me. “You can’t _really_ hate someone until you really care about them. It’s like my brother and Fiona Pitch. She only hated him so much because she cared for him once. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why she’s not too fond of me, either.”

            “You knew Baz’s aunt?” I ask.

            “Oh, yeah! We were best mates in school! I’m glad to see you and young Master Pitch went about it the other way around. You get on now, then?”

            I nod and look into the fire. “Something like that, yeah. But, listen, it’s kind of a secret though.”

            She turns and winks one of her bright blue eyes at me. “Your secret’s safe with me, Simon. Although, I don’t know why you’d wanna hide _that_. Sounds like a good thing to me.”

***

            I keep calling. Every time, his father answers. The fact that he’s not at work only makes me more anxious. And the fact that Baz isn’t allowed near the phone. Finally, at lunch on Thursday, Vera answers.

            “Vera! It’s m— it’s Simon. Is everything alright there? I keep calling but—”

            “Master Snow, I think it would be best if you stopped calling for now. Give Mr Grimm some time to calm down about it all. He’s quite distraught.”

 _Distraught? About what?_ “What happened? Where’s Baz?”

  
            “He’s not with you then?” Vera asks, dumbstruck.

            “No. Is he at the lodge?”

            “No, no. That’s the first place they looked.” I can feel panic rising. He’s missing? Baz is missing? Not home. Not in Oxford. Not at Watford.

            “Vera, I need Fiona's number.” It’s the only place I can think he would go.

            Fiona picks up right away. I can’t believe she doesn’t hang up when I say who it is, but I swear I hear her spit.

            "Is he with you?" I ask. I can’t keep my voice steady.

            "Why would I tell you?" she asks, frustrating every last shred of patience I have. I barely suppress a growl. I _won’t_ let myself go off.

            “Because—." How do I even begin to explain? I can’t say I’m on their side now, that’s not true. But I’m on Baz’s side, or he’s on mine. Something. “I was with him in Oxford this summer. I’m… we’re… You asked him if he had a bloke, at the end of term…"

            She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t believe me. And why would she? What could I even say that would convince her when I barely believe it myself sometimes? What do I know, that only I _could_ know?

            “I know where his bite marks are. On the back of his neck. He wears his hair long to cover them.” I take a deep breath and hope no one is listening in. Baz thinks someone is always listening in on the school phone.

            “That doesn’t prove anything,” she quickly snaps. Then she lets out a hiss as she realizes she didn’t deny it.

            I curve my body around the receiver, as if I can block anyone from hearing in. I set my jaw and try to sound formidable. “Why would he tell me that? And why haven’t I turned him in? Now, tell me where he is!”

            She’s quiet a long time. When she speaks, it’s as if she’s prying the words out with a crowbar. “I don't know. I'm trying to find him, too."

            "What happened? Where was he last? Did he say anything? You don't think—” I don’t say ‘he killed himself.’ “You don't think… maybe his father did something. Because of us? He just called the last time I saw him."

            "You've got to be kidding me. I'm hanging up."

            "No! No, I'm sorry.” I try to think like Baz would. “His dad wouldn't betray family, right? So, then what happened?"            

            Another calculating pause. "Last anyone saw him was at the club. Wednesday before last."

            That's fifteen days. I don’t trust Baz’s aunt, I don’t even _like_ her. But I can hear in her voice she’s just as freaked out as I am. "Do you think… maybe he hurt himself?"

            "No." Her answer is firm. But how does she know? Does anyone but me know how he gets? How he _was_?

            "Then did someone else? Did maybe someone find out he's a, you know, and do something?"

            "Snow," she exhales and says the rest with gritted teeth. " _He's alive_. They've asked a ransom."

            Relief washes over me. Alive. _Alive_.

            "Then we just pay it. Let me help. I can come now, please—"

            "We're not paying it. Pitches don’t pay ransoms."

            I hold the phone out in front of me, trying my best not to crush it in frustration.

            "You mean to tell me, we could go get Baz _right now_ , he could be safe, but you won't give up your precious money?"

            "Listen you—" I can hear her catching her breath on the other end of the line. "It's _not_ about the money. I'll find him another way. I'm handling it.”

            I think of offering her my magic, but something tells me Baz would think that was a stupid move. "What can I do? Please. I can't just sit here waiting. I'll come there. I can bring... reinforcements."

            Baz's aunt is a powerful magician. I know, I've felt her magic before. There's nothing any of us stupid teenagers has to offer, and I know Fiona must be thinking the same thing. But then—

            "I have a Maggie! I mean, I have a werewolf. We could track him by scent." The line is so silent, I wonder if she's hung up. " _Fiona?_ "

            And I know she must be desperate, because the next thing she says is: "What else have you got?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on updating on Sundays until this story is finished. I'm sorry for the wait. I just reread the rest of the fic and I'm starting to make some sense of all the notes I've been making since October. School is over and though things are really busy at work, my friends have mostly graduated and moved away so I should have like, unlimited free time. First summer in three years I haven't taken a summer class! 
> 
> I've missed you all so much! Since I last posted, I wrote a 100 page memoir, a 30 page science fiction short story, about a dozen poems, 15 pages in another book I'm working on, and a bunch of other little things that are in the "needs lots of work" stage of revision. I also wrote an 11 page SnowBaz AU that I read for my final thesis presentation (in front of like 50+ people) that is probably my favorite thing I've ever written. It's not been accepted anywhere yet, but in the last 6 months I did have a poem accepted at Asterism lit journal and a short story published in Catfish Creek lit journal! :D Here's hoping to get a few more in before I graduate in December and can't submit to undergraduate lit journals anymore haha.
> 
> Anyway, it's good to be back and thank you to everyone for hanging in there and to everyone who reached out and let me know they were patiently waiting for more haha


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a little late and I forgot to post the song that went with it but hey better late than never, right?
> 
> [I'll Keep Coming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnrGMHhnqrw)

SIMON

     "I can get us out," Ani says quickly. I can see her mind already working behind her dark eyes. “I have money for train tickets, I can even get us transport to the station.”

     "That's the thing.” I hold up a hand. I’ve gathered our team, for what it is, in the library. Between the five of us, I’m hoping we can think of anything—everything—that might go wrong. “We can't all go. Just me, Maggie... and Niall." I try not to let on how I feel about the arrangement, but then Penny voices it anyway.

     “What the actual fuck? Niall? No, _I'm_ coming with you.”

     "Look, it's gotta be this way or Fiona won't agree to it." I cross my arms. I'm going to have to sell a plan I hate. "Two from our side, two from theirs. And I need Maggie for her nose."

     " _Sides_? Who the hell cares about sides? We're all on Baz's side." Penny stands, her palms flat on the table.

     "You can take my place,” Maggie offers shakily. “I don't want to go. My parents will kill me if I sneak out of Watford, and it'll be dangerous, and..."

     Everyone is staring at her. I open my mouth, I'm about to start shouting, but then Ani's thin voice comes out instead.

     "You should be ashamed of yourself! After everything he's done for you. After everything he's done for all of us. _You bloody coward_."

     "I just—"

     "Bite me!" Ani cries out. "Bite me and I'll do it."

     I take Maggie by the shoulders, look into her rapidly-widening brown eyes. "Hey. It's ok. No one's going to make you go. But I'll be there the whole time. I won't let you out of my sight. And your roommates can help back here. Play defence. Hide that you're gone."

     "But... classes..."

     "We'll leave next Saturday, have you back by Monday morning, yeah? Whether we find him or not." She looks over my shoulder at Penny so I move to block her gaze. "I promise I won't let you get hurt, okay? Do you trust me?"

     She looks back and forth between my eyes, but she swallows and nods.

     "You need something that smells like him," Penny points out. "Did he leave any clothes here?"

     "He spells his wardrobe closed." I rub the back of my neck. I look down. I'm wearing his grey v-neck under my clothes. I've worn it every day since I saw him last. (Since he's been missing.) "What about this?"

     I lift my shirt and pull out the grey fabric for Maggie to sniff. She leans hesitantly forward, bending at the waist.

     She shakes her head. "It smells like campfire, Simon."

_Shit._

     "His sheets then," Penny suggests.

     "They've all been washed."

     "I..." Agatha speaks for the first time since we all sat down. "I might have something." Her eyes flicker nervously to me.

     "What is it?" I ask, narrowing my eyes without meaning to.

     She tilts her pointed chin up. "It's a handkerchief. I found it, but it's got his… it's got his initials..."

     Penny's eyebrows are so high I think they're going to fly off her forehead. She keeps looking between Agatha and I. I groan. "Penny, stop it. It's fine. It doesn't mean anything. Right?"

     Agatha looks at Penny, her eyes wide and shakes her head furiously. "No! I just, I had it so long, I didn't know how to give it back without making things weird."

     "Well, it's a good thing you didn't," Penny says. "Can you go get it? So we can see if it works?"

     She comes back with a white linen handkerchief wrapped in cellophane to keep it clean. It has Baz’s initials alright, and the Pitch crest. Maggie takes a whiff and says it will do. (Thank Merlin for my ridiculous, handkerchief-carrying boyfriend.) (Though I suppose, if I just had a boyfriend who didn't spell his wardrobe closed...)

     “Wrap it back up," I order, "it needs to keep its smell until we leave. Now, this is Fiona’s plan…”

***

     We get out of Watford without a hitch. Ani distracted the member of the Mage’s Men at the gate with a nasty **_The birds and the bees_** that made me glad she’s on our side. Niall was surprisingly easy to convince to come along. I guess once he spoke with Fiona and realized Baz wasn’t intentionally ignoring him, he was actually anxious to help. Maybe he’s more than a minion after all.

     Ani got us bikes to get to the station, but the first train out of Watford wasn’t until ten, so we had to hide out until we could board. Then we had to follow Niall across London to the club. (Maggie’s family lives up north, she’s never been, and of course _I_ have no idea where it is.)

     Baz’s aunt is waiting there for us, looking just as terrifying as ever. She has a white shock in her black hair that I remind myself to ask Baz about later, once we find him. (We _will_ find him, even if I have to send Maggie back to school alone and keep looking by myself.)

     “Hello.” I nod and she gives a non-committal jerk of her head.

     “This the werewolf?” she asks, gesturing a shrug at Maggie.

     I roll my eyes. “Could you have said that any louder?”

     There are still people milling in and out of the club, despite the fact a crime was committed here. I reckon they don’t even know. People are pulling up the short curved drive in their cars and handing their keys over to the attendant who magicks the cars and keys away altogether. The building itself is red brick, with white trim, posts, and door. The glass is so dark I can’t see into the building, and tall hedges run around the grounds so you can’t see in. The people going in seem normal enough, if overly posh.

     Fiona is making Maggie sniff around conspicuously near the entrance. When I notice them, I ask, “Is it working? Has it rained? Is the scent gone?”

     Fiona shoots me daggers. “It doesn’t _rain_ inside the club grounds.” She says it like it’s the stupidest idea she’s ever heard. “The whole thing is climate controlled. Obviously.”

     I want to ask her if she is here to find Baz, or just make me look stupid, but then I think she’ll probably just say “Both.” It’s what he would have done.

     Instead, I pull out Baz’s handkerchief and Fiona arches an eyebrow at it. Maggie takes it from me, holds the square of fabric to her face and closes her eyes. A moment later, she’s crossing the drive to a spot near some ornamental grasses.

     “Here! I smell him here.”

     Fiona strides quickly to follow her, and Niall and I are right behind. “Where did he go from there?”

     “I don’t know…” I can tell Maggie _wants_ to be able to answer her. The faster she solves this, the faster she can leave. “It’s been too long. The scent’s too faint.”

     “Well, what _do_ you smell?” Fiona snaps. I’m about to ask her to be a little nicer, but then I see the worry behind her grimace. _Right._ Baz and her are close. She’s the only one who he can talk about his mum with, even if she idolizes her a bit obsessively. He told me so.

      Maggie looks scared she’s about to say the wrong thing. “Something... _swampy_? Like standing water. Construction dust, maybe. I know it makes no sense—.”

     “Numpties.” Fiona stiffens.

     I cross my arms and say incredulously, “He wasn't kidnapped by _numpties_.”

     Fiona throws me a look like she can’t believe I’m defending him. “Then why _were_ there numpties at the club, Snow? Do they have a membership?”

     Niall laughs. I stare at the spot where Baz disappeared. There’s nothing special about this spot, just small red and grey stones that make up the drive, then a mulched area with larger boulders between the tufts of tall grass.

      “Did they maybe hide here and ambush him?” I ask. No one answers. I wish, not for the first time, that Penny was here.

     Fiona hunches down to look Maggie in the face. Maggie flinches away. “Where did they go from here? Can you smell?”

     “I don’t know. Maybe down the path?” Fiona grabs Maggie by the arm and starts dragging her down toward the road, spraying gravel as they go.

     “Hey!” I shout.

     When they reach the street, Maggie shakes her head rapidly, her orange mane going wild. Fiona lets her go forcefully and Maggie rubs her recently-freed arm.

     “The trail goes cold.” Fiona scowls.

     “Well, we just need to find wherever numpties could be hiding, right?” Niall offers. “Under bridges or whatever. Then we interrogate them.”

     “How many bridges are there in London?” I ask.

     “Thirty or so,” Fiona answers. “But we can split up. Two start in the middle of the Thames and go opposite ways; one at either end and work their way in. If any of us finds anything, we’ll send a bird to the others.”

     I glance at Maggie. “I don’t think we should split up. If they could take down Baz without anyone noticing…”

     “Scared of numpties?” Fiona crosses her arms.

     “No, but I’m not about to send a fourteen-year-old off to fight a pack of them since we know they’ve already kidnapped a powerful mage!” Fiona gives me another dubious look at that last comment and that only makes me angrier. “Stop looking at me like that! Where’s the nearest bridge?”

     “Putney," she answers. "But we should backtrack to Hammersmith and work our way in. We’ll go in pairs.”

     I nod agreement, but I don’t know if that’s a good idea either. Maggie is a kid, and without my magic—

     “You with Niall, the girl will come with me,” Fiona says firmly.

     “No—I can’t let you do that. I promised her she’d stay with me.” I clench my fists.

     “Well, then that makes you a liar,” she replies. “The weakest should go with the strongest, and we’ll move faster with my car. It only makes sense that the blood hound be with me.”

     My stomach turns with uneasiness. I can’t say no because she’s right. She _is_ the most experience magician. It’s not until Niall and I are walking down the steps to the underground that it occurs to me that maybe her plan all along was to get me out of the way and take Maggie for herself.  
  
MAGGIE

     I think I _would_ actually feel safer with Baz’s aunt than with Simon, if it weren’t for her driving. And smoking. And trying to do both at the same time. _While_ casting spells.

     She keeps pointing her wand at the dash and muttering past her cigarette, **_“Have Maggie, will travel.”_** I guess she’s trying to take me to where I’ll be useful, but I don’t know why she doesn’t just stick to the plan she told Simon. Her spell could take us anywhere, maybe even back to Watford, and it won’t take long to just check the bridges one by one. I notice the steering wheel is jerking left and right on its own now, so her spell must be steering for her. Which is good, because both her hands are busy lighting a new cigarette.

     The wheel jerks sharply left again, jumping the curb, and my stomach somersaults. But the feeling doesn’t go away. It feels almost like the Crucible felt on the first day of school, but hotter. This must be Penny’s tracking spell: **_Where you lead, I will follow_. ** It’s meant for children, parents can cast it before they leave the house so they don’t get lost at Legoland or whatever, but I guess I am still a child, _technically_.

     Now all I have to do is sit tight, _want_ to be found, and Simon will find us. (If he can manage to keep up.)

     I’m starting to recognize where we are from telly; we’re getting close to city centre. Just as the pain in my stomach gets to be unbearable, we reach traffic and have to stop. _Good_ , I think, _now Simon can catch up._ And sure enough, the tension in my belly starts to release.

     Fiona is fuming and cursing, and next thing she’s parking and hopping out. She comes ‘round to my side and drags me out by the sleeve of my red jumper.

     “Let’s go, we’re nearly there.”

     She casts **_Have Maggie, will travel_** again and lets her wand lay flat in her palm. It swings around to point towards the direction of all the traffic, so she takes off. She’s so long-legged, and determined, I have to jog to keep up.

     We make it to the street that leads to the bridge and Fiona does the spell again. I can't tell if it's directing us under the bridge or across it. Baz’s aunt kind of hisses under her breath.

     “Do you smell anything here?!”

     I shake my head. “W-water?”

     I can smell the Thames. And the car exhaust, meat grilling at the pub on the corner, and steam from the tube…

     Suddenly my stomach feels almost normal again. I think maybe the spell has broken, but then I realize Simon has caught up to us. He must be directly beneath us on the tube.

     But Fiona is already pulling me away again toward the Thames, practically running now, down the stone steps to the underpass. When we get to the water, she drags me toward the pilings and I start to smell... something.

     “There’s something salty. And rotting. And blood.” I smell old blood.

     Fiona's face goes as pale as it can get and she tears off without me, climbing over a construction barrier and through a gap in the pilings. I want to cry out for her to wait, but I'm too nervous to follow her. I twist my cuff around my wrist anxiously.

     Suddenly, I'm being spun around and Simon has got me by the shoulders. His hands are so hot they burn.

     "Are you alright? Is she here? Is Baz here?"

     My mouth hangs open; it takes me a second to form words. “I can't smell him, not over the blood.”

     "Did she cast fire?" Niall asks, catching up with Simon. I turn and see light glowing from where Fionna just went. "She's fighting something. Come on, you two."

     "I can't—" I start, but Simon finishes for me.

     "Magickal fire kills werewolves, it draws them in. She can't help. Stay with her!" Simon is already running after Baz's aunt, slipping between the bridge’s supports.

     "No way, Snow." Niall is right after him.

     "Stay there," Simon calls over his shoulder and it's not a spell, but suddenly I can't move.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for missing last week, but no chapter could be as good as the Wayward Son announcement anyway!!
> 
>  
> 
> [ U Turn ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wJRh0PlWB6g)

BAZ

            I’ve long since passed out of hunger. On through where you don’t feel it anymore, then past the period where you’re so hungry you almost feel sick, to feeling so famished it actually _hurts_. And then back into deep, hollow denial. My body has realized its signals are being ignored, so it’s stopped bothering to send them at all. Now I only feel that pain every few days or so, or whenever it is that they bring me blood. Once I drink, the pain comes back. Like the inside of my gut pulling in on itself. Tearing away from me.

            I hang onto that pain. It’s the last reminder I have that some part of me is still alive.

            And I _want_ to be alive. I know that now at least. Even if it’s only to spite whoever’s keeping me here. Even if it’s just to see Snow one last time. Even if it’s only to say goodbye. _I should have said goodbye._

            At first I thought the pain would keep me ready, keep the fight in me. But I gave up on that days ago. If I could get my wand, maybe I could get off one cliché before I collapse from exhaustion. _If_ I could get my wand… (Who knows what the bloody numpties have done with it.) But with whatever they did to my leg, I’ll be lucky if I can stand if the opportunity should present itself. Should they open the coffin wide enough… (That’s definitely what this is, a coffin. The satiny lining gave it away.) So I focus on keeping my _mind_ sharp instead. What good would it do to run mad here?

            I list off all the characters I can remember from Game of Thrones. (One hundred and fourteen of them.) I list the house sigils and words and colors. I recite Swinburne and Poe and try to do some Shakespeare, but I keep forgetting it. I tell myself the plot of movies I’ve seen. I sing whatever I feel like. The numpties particularly dislike The Ramones, I’ve found. (I do all of this aloud. I never know when someone might happen by.)

            Every so often I’ll stop and scream for help. I don’t think anyone will actually come at this point, but at least it frightens the numpties. I hear them scraping and rumbling around me, away from me… I don’t know what they look like. They knocked me out and dragged me here and I’ve seen nothing but the inside of this coffin since. I can’t hear anything besides the occasional grinding that announces the numpties’ movement. Even when they throw in the stale and clotting blood for me to drink, I don’t see any light. I try not to think about being underground. Or where the blood comes from.

            I sleep enough to keep my wits, but I don’t let myself give into it. I’ll lose track of the days if I let myself sleep all the time. I think it’s been ten days, but that can’t be right. Ten days with no sign of friend or foe? I expected the mastermind behind this to show themselves eventually. Certainly the numpties didn't plan this on their own. The obvious candidate is the Mage, but if it is him, he probably won't let it be known to me, in case I escape. I fancy thinking that it's maybe one of the bonety hunters or Manticorps or something, and they've kidnapped me to draw Snow in. But no one knows about us. Besides, they've all been keeping their distance since the war properly got going, with the Mage making raids.

            I half hoped that my father or Fiona or even Daphne would appear, but no one has yet. I suffer no delusions that Snow is coming for me. How would he even know I've been kidnapped? I stormed off with no explanation. The last thing I texted him was “Everything’s fine.” when he wouldn’t stop asking why I’d gone home. Those words echo noisily around my brain when I can’t think of anything else to think of. Everything is not sodding fine. But wherever he went, there’s no one to tell him that.

            Maybe Bunce told him I’m not at school. Is his phone still working since I haven’t been able to pay the bill? Where would he go? He has no family, no money, no friends outside of Watford. I amuse myself wondering if he might actually be in worse shape than I am right now, if that’s even possible.

            But no. I _know_ what he’s done. He’s gone to the Mage. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would run back to his infallible mentor, and there was nothing else for him to do. He’s told him everything. The Mage has probably already figured out how to put this new information to good use. I try to imagine what I would do in his place, but it’s useless. The Old Families have spent a dozen years trying to get inside his head with no success. I’m not going to figure it out from here, with nothing but my own mind.

            But I suppose I’d hide Snow away. I wouldn’t want him spilling the truth to anyone else. There would need to be an explanation. He’d be training, or preparing, or “fighting our enemies.” Something the foolish and naïve and afraid would be only too happy to believe.

            A small voice in the back of my mind whispers: _You’d find a way to take his magic._

            I know. I know I would. I know the Mage would, if he could. I know he’s probably finding a way to, if he hasn’t already.

            And I’m here.

*******

            The numpties are stirring around me. It doesn’t feel like night, at least I'm not tired, and they “fed” me yesterday. They never feed me less than three days apart. But there is a definitely some kind of commotion. They're grumbling and grinding away from me. It sounds like a rockslide.

            “Hello?” I call, and bang a fist against the lid of the coffin just once. I can’t waste my energy on a false alarm. The rumbling continues, the numpties pay me no mind, but there's something else too. Maybe... shouting? And it's getting closer.

            I smack the lid again. "Hey!"

            It's entirely possible I've just finally gone mad. I don’t allow myself to feel hope until I hear Aunt Fiona’s voice. She’s casting immolating spells so fast she sounds like an auctioneer. I start to pound on the lid. She knows I’m here, she’s come for me. I hope she can take them on alone. I don't know how many numpties there are, even. At least five.

            Then I feel it. It’s unmistakable, the heat, the electric pop of it. I feel his magic.

            “Snow! Simon, I’m here!” My voice is weak from lack of water and overuse. I don't know if they can hear me. " _Snow!_ "

            I hear him growl. _Are they losing?_

            Then there’s a third voice. I just make it out. _Niall._ I want to cry but I can’t; I don’t have enough water left. I don’t think they can hear my cries so I beat my hands bloody against the roof of my prison. I kick the side with my good leg. If they do hear, they don't acknowledge me.

            The din of the fight, metal against stone, the deafening rumble of I don’t-know-how-many numpties, the woosh as fire crosses over the lid of the coffin— I panic and scream again. There's suddenly not enough air in here. I push up with everything I have left. I don’t want to be burned alive in this fucking coffin.

            I’m still screaming and shoving against the lid when someone wrenches the top half away. The fire is so bright after the endless dark that I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. I don’t know who’s come for me until he grabs me around the waist and pulls. He’s so hot and I’ve been so very, very cold. Snow yanks me up but my bad leg catches on the lower half of the lid and I let out a wail as white hot pain shoots through it.

            Simon realizes I’m hurt and lets go of my waist, taking my hands instead. My eyes have started to adjust and I see the golden glow begin as I feel his magic flowing into me.

_No._

            "It’s not life or death,” I blurt. “It’s not life or death! Fiona—"

            I say her name as a warning, so he’ll stop before anyone can see, but she turns at the sound just as the light goes out of Simons hands.

 

MAGGIE

            Whatever Ani thinks of me, I am not _actually_ a coward. I _want_ to help Simon and Baz when I hear the fight break out. There’s so much screaming and it sounds like the bridge might be collapsing down there, but I’m stuck. I can’t move from this spot. I turn my cuff around and around nervously, casting anything I can think of to break Simon’s spell. But after a few minutes it gets quiet, and then all I hear is Baz’s aunt yelling. Something about, “What’s this city coming to?” and “Who gets kidnapped by numpties? Numpties, Baz! Numpties!”

            I feel a little relieved because that must mean they’ve found him, and he must be alive for her to shout at. Then I hear her and Simon fighting about something else, talking over each other, and a few moments later Simon climbs out of the gap in the ground, carrying what I think at first is a fake skeleton with a dirty wig on.

            “Baz!” I gasp. He’s more filthy and thin than I’ve ever seen anyone. His cheeks are pulled in like he’s making a duck face, and his clothes are about fifty shades of brown. Simon walks right past me and Fiona and Niall are close behind. They’re all singed and dusty and are so focused on getting Baz back to the car that no one has noticed I’m not moving. “Wait! I’m stuck!”

            Simon and Niall stop and turn to see me struggling to follow.

            “What did you do to her, Snow?” Niall asks.

            “I don’t even know.” He looks confused. “ **You can move, I guess.** ”

            Simon says it with magic and I nearly fall over when I’m suddenly released from his spell.

            “We won’t all fit in the car,” Fiona calls from the stone steps. “Snow, take the girl back to Watford.”

            “Snow stays,” Baz says, his voice weak. His aunt opens her mouth to argue but he shakes his head and repeats himself. “Snow. Stays.”

            Baz looks to Niall.

            “Really? I just helped save your arse and you’re sending me on babysitting duty?” Niall shakes his head, but takes my arm anyway. (I’m going to have bruises from everyone jerking me about today.)

            Niall gets me to Paddington and on a train back to Watford. I can’t say I’m not relieved. It’ll be just after dinner by the time we get back, maybe no one will have noticed I was missing.

            On the train, I ask Niall what happened, why Baz was being kept by those numpties.

            “Don’t know.” He shrugs. “We killed most of them, and the others ran— well, _rolled_ — for their lives.”

            I'm glad I didn't have to see that. I'm glad to be going back to Watford. I'm glad Baz is safe.

 

 

 

SIMON

            I’ve been in this room before. Last year on Christmas Eve. I didn’t know you could actually sit on the furniture, then. All the chairs have embroidered covers, they look like the kind in museums with little “keep off” signs. But I’ve been sitting here for hours, now. While the adults have casted every healing spell known to the World of Mages. I can hear them, every so often. When someone opens the door to Baz’s room.

            They won't let me see him, yet. I can’t wait much longer. Not now I know. Now that I’ve _realized_. Her portrait is hanging right across from me, and there’s no denying it. Her grey eyes, her reddish gold skin… The Visitor that’s been haunting our room is Baz’s mum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> have you missed Baz's voice? cause i have!

**Author's Note:**

> your kudos and comments keep my skin clear, my crops flourishing, and encourage me to write more better!
> 
> let's be friends:  
> [tumblr](https://so-not-that-cool.tumblr.com/)  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/sonotthatcool)  
> [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/user/sonotthatcool)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Unholy Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12625962) by [izzet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzet/pseuds/izzet)




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